/far 


A  Man  Four-Square 


yoi'yk  BEEN  BEEN      (Pap  133) 


A  Man  Four-Square 


By 
William  MacLeod  Raine 


Boston  and  New  York 

Houghton  Mifflin  Company 

&&e  0toer#be  $reft  Cambri&j&e 


COPYRIGHT,   1918,   BY  THE   STORY-PRESS   CORPORATION 
COPYRIGHT,    1919,   BVT   WILLIAM   MACLEOD   RAINE 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Contents 


Prologue 1 

I.  "Call  Me  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  "       .      .  17 

II.  Shoot-a-Buck  Canon 27 

III.  Ranse  Roush  Pays 37 

IV.  Pauline  Roubideau  Says  "  Thank  You  "  48 
V.  No  Four-Flusher 54 

VI.  Billie  Asks  a  Question       ....  61 

VII.  On  the  Trail 68 

VIII.  The  Fight 73 

IX.  Billie  Stands  Pat 83 

X.  Bud  Proctor  Lends  a  Hand       ...  90 

XI.  The  Fugitives 97 

XII.  The  Good  Samaritan 106 

XIII.  A  Friendly  Enemy 114 

XIV.  The  Gun-Barrel  Road        ....  124 
XV.  Lee  Plays  a  Leading  R6le  .      .      .      .  130 

XVI.  Three  Modern  Musketeers     .      .      .  140 

XVII.  "Peg-Leg"  Warren 146 

XVIII.  A  Stampede 153 

XIX.  A  Two-Gun  Man 165 

XX.  Exit  Mysterious  Pete 173 

XXI.  Jim  Receives  and  Declines  an  Offer  .  179 

XXII.  The  Rustlers'  Camp 190 

XXIII.  Murder  from  the  Chaparral  .      .      .  197 

M""OQO  BO 


vi  Contents 

XXIV.  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  Leaves  a  Note    .  204 

XXV.  The  Mal-Pais 213 

XXVI.  A  Dust-Storm 221 

XXVII.  "A  Lucky  Guy" 225 

XXVIII.  Sheriff  Prince  Functions      .      .      .  232 
XXIX.  "They  can't  Hang  Me   if  I  ain't 

There" 244 

XXX.  Polly  has  a  Plan 249 

XXXI.   GOODHEART     MAKES     A     PROMISE    AND 

Breaks  It 255 

XXXII.  Jim  Takes  a  Prisoner       ....  263 

XXXHI.  The  Round-Up 272 

XXXIV.  Primrose  Paths 28** 

The  frontispiece  is  from  a  drawing  by 
Mr.  George  W.  Gage 


A  Man  Four-Square 


A  Man  Four-Square 

Prologue 

A  girl  sat  on  the  mossy  river-bank  in  the  dappled, 
golden  sunlight.  Frowning  eyes  fixed  on  a  sweeping 
eddy,  she  watched  without  seeing  the  racing  cur- 
rent. Her  slim,  supple  body,  crouched  and  tense, 
was  motionless,  but  her  soul  seethed  tumultuously. 
In  the  bosom  of  her  coarse  linsey  gown  lay  hidden 
a  note.  Through  it  destiny  called  her  to  the  tragic 
hour  of  decision. 

The  foliage  of  the  young  pawpaws  stirred  behind 
her.  Furtively  a  pair  of  black  eyes  peered  forth 
and  searched  the  opposite  bank  of  the  stream,  the 
thicket  of  rhododendrons  above,  the  blooming 
laurels  below.  Very  stealthily  a  handsome  head 
pushed  out  through  the  leaves. 

"'Lindy,"  a  voice  whispered. 

The  girl  gave  a  start,  slowly  turned  her  head. 
She  looked  at  the  owner  of  the  voice  from  steady, 
deep-lidded  eyes.  The  pulse  in  her  brown  throat 
began  to  beat.  One  might  have  guessed  her  with 
entire  justice  a  sullen  lass,  untutored  of  life,  pas- 
sionate, and  high-spirited,  resentful  of  all  restraint. 
Hers  was  such  beauty  as  lies  in  rich  blood  beneath 
dark  coloring,  in  dusky  hair  and  eyes,  in  the  soft, 
warm  contours  of  youth.  Already  she  was  slenderly 
full,  an  elemental  daughter  of  Eve,  primitive  as  one 


2  A  Man  Four-Square 

of  her  fur-clad  ancestors.  No  forest  fawn  could 
have  been  more  sensuous  or  innocent  than  she. 

Again  the  man's  glance  swept  the  landscape  cau- 
tiously before  he  moved  out  from  cover.  In  the 
country  of  the  Clantons  there  was  always  an  open 
season  on  any  one  of  his  name. 

"What  are  you  doin'  here,  Dave  Roush?"  the 
girl  demanded.   "Are  you  crazy?" 

"I'm  here  because  you  are,  'Lindy  Clan  ton," 
he  answered  promptly.  "That's  a  right  good  rea- 
son, ain't  it?" 

The  pink  splashed  into  her  cheeks  like  spilled 
wine. 

"You'd  better  go.  If  dad  saw  you  — " 

He  laughed  hardily.  "There 'd  be  one  less  Roush 
—  or  one  less  Clanton,"  he  finished  for  her. 

Dave  Roush  was  a  large,  well-shouldered  man, 
impressive  in  spite  of  his  homespun.  If  he  carried 
himself  with  a  swagger  there  was  no  lack  of  bold- 
ness in  him  to  back  it.  His  long  hair  was  straight 
and  black  and  coarse,  a  derivative  from  the  Indian 
strain  in  his  blood. 

"Git  my  note?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded  sullenly. 

Xindy  had  met  Dave  Roush  at  a  dance  up  on 
Lonesome  where  she  had  no  business  to  be.  At  the 
time  she  had  been  visiting  a  distant  cousin  in  a  cove 
adjacent  to  that  creek.  Some  craving  for  adven- 
ture, some  instinct  of  defiance,  had  taken  her  to  the 
frolic  where  she  knew  the  Roush  clan  would  be  in 
force.  From  the  first  sight  of  her  Dave  had  wooed 
her  with  a  careless  bravado  that  piqued  her  pride 


A  Man  Four-Square  3 

and  intrigued  her  interest.  The  girl's  imagination 
translated  in  terms  of  romance  his  insolence  and 
audacity.  Into  her  starved  existence  he  brought 
color  and  emotion. 

Did  she  love  him?  'Lindy  was  not  sure.  He 
moved  her  at  times  to  furious  anger,  and  again  to 
inarticulate  longings  she  did  not  understand.  For 
though  she  was  heritor  of  a  life  full-blooded  and 
undisciplined,  every  fiber  of  her  was  clean  and  pure. 
There  were  hours  when  she  hated  him,  glimpsed  in 
him  points  of  view  that  filled  her  with  vague  dis- 
trust.  But  always  he  attracted  her  tremendously. 

"You're  goin'  with  me,  gal,"  he  urged. 

Close  to  her  hand  was  a  little  clump  of  forget-me- 
nots  which  had  pushed  through  the  moss.  'Lindy 
feigned  to  be  busy  picking  the  blossoms. 

"No,"  she  answered  sulkily. 

"Yes.  To-night  —  at  eleven  o'clock,  'Lindy,  — 
under  the  big  laurel." 

While  she  resented  his  assurance,  it  none  the  less 
coerced  her.  She  did  not  want  a  lover  who  groveled 
in  the  dust  before  her.  She  wanted  one  to  sweep  her 
from  her  feet,  a  young  Lochinvar  to  compel  her  by 
the  force  of  his  personality. 

"I'll  not  be  there,"  she  told  him. 

"We'll  git  right  across  the  river  an'  be  married 
inside  of  an  hour." 

"  I  tell  you  I  'm  not  goin'  with  you.  Quit  pesterin' 
me." 

His  devil-may-care  laugh  trod  on  the  heels  of  her 
refusal.  He  guessed  shrewdly  that  circumstances 
were  driving  her  to  him.  The  girl  was  full  of  resent- 


4  A  Man  Four-Square 

ment  at  her  father's  harsh  treatment  of  her.  Her 
starved  heart  craved  love.  She  was  daughter  of 
that  Clanton  who  led  the  feud  against  the  Roush 
family  and  its  adherents.  Dave  took  his  life  in  his 
hands  every  time  he  crossed  the  river  to  meet  her. 
Once  he  had  swum  the  stream  in  tjie  night  to  keep 
an  appointment.  He  knew  that  his  wildness,  his 
reckless  courage  and  contempt  of  danger,  argued 
potently  for  him.  She  was  coming  to  him  as  reluc- 
tantly and  surely  as  a  wild  turkey  answers  the  call 
of  the  hunter. 

The  sound  of  a  shot,  not  distant,  startled  them. 
He  crouched,  wary  as  a  rattlesnake  about  to  strike. 
The  rifle  seemed  almost  to  leap  forward. 

"Hit's  Bud  —  my  brother  Jimmie."  She  pushed 
him  back  toward  the  pawpaws.  "Quick!  Burn  the 
wind!" 

"What  about  to-night?  Will  you  come?" 

"Hurry.  I  tell  you  hit's  Bud.  Are  you  lookin* 
for  trouble?" 

He  stopped  stubbornly  at  the  edge  of  the  thicket. 
"I  ain't  runnin'  away  from  it.  I  put  a  question  to 
ye.  When  I  git  my  answer  mebbe  I'll  go.  But  I 
don't  'low  to  leave  till  then." 

"  I  '11  meet  ye  there  if  I  kin  git  out.  Now  go,"  she 
begged. 

The  man  vanished  in  the  pawpaws.  He  moved  as 
silently  as  one  of  his  Indian  ancestors. 

'Lindy  waited,  breathless  lest  her  brother  should 
catch  sight  of  him.  She  knew  that  if  Jimmie  saw 
Roush  there  would  be  shooting  and  one  or  the  other 
would  fall. 


A  Man  Four-Square  5 

A  rifle  shot  rang  out  scarce  a  hundred  yards  from 
her.  The  heart  of  the  girl  stood  still.  After  what 
seemed  an  interminable  time  there  came  to  her  the 
sound  of  a  care-free  whistle.  Presently  her  brother 
sauntered  into  view,  a  dead  squirrel  in  his  hand. 
The  tails  of  several  others  bulged  from  the  game  bag 
by  his  side.  The  sister  did  not  need  to  be  told  that 
four  out  of  five  had  been  shot  through  the  head. 

"Thought  I  heard  voices.  Was  some  one  with 
you,  sis?"  the  boy  asked. 

"Who'd  be  with  me  here?"  she  countered  lazily. 

A  second  time  she  was  finding  refuge  in  the  for- 
get-me-nots. 

He  was  a  barefoot  little  fellow,  slim  and  hard  as  a 
nail.  In  his  hand  he  carried  an  old-fashioned  rifle 
almost  as  long  as  himself.  There  was  a  lingering 
look  of  childishness  in  his  tanned,  boyish  face.  His 
hands  and  feet  were  small  and  shapely  as  those  of  a 
girl.  About  him  hung  the  stolid  imperturbability 
of  the  Southern  mountaineer.  Times  were  when  his 
blue  eyes  melted  to  tenderness  or  mirth;  yet  again 
the  cunning  of  the  jungle  narrowed  them  to  slits 
hard  as  jade.  Already,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  he 
had  been  shot  at  from  ambush,  had  wounded  a 
Roush  at  long  range,  had  taken  part  in  a  pitched 
battle.  The  law  of  the  feud  was  tempering  his  heart 
to  implacability. 

The  keen  gaze  of  the  boy  rested  on  her.  Ever 
since  word  had  reached  the  Clantons  of  how  'Lindy 
had  "carried  on"  with  Dave  Roush  at  the  dance  on 
Lonesome  her  people  had  watched  her  suspiciously. 
The  thing  she  had  done  had  been  a  violation  of  the 


6  A  Man  Four-Square 

hill  code  and  old  Clay  Clanton  had  thrashed  her 
with  a  cowhide  till  she  begged  for  mercy.  Jimmie 
had  come  home  from  the  still  to  find  her  writhing 
in  passionate  revolt.  The  boy  had  been  furious  at 
his  father;  yet  had  admitted  the  substantial  justice 
of  the  punishment.  Its  wisdom  he  doubted.  For  he 
knew  his  sister  to  be  stubborn  as  old  Clay  himself, 
and  he  feared  lest  they  drive  her  to  the  arms  of  Bad 
Dave  Roush. 

"I  reckon  you  was  talkin'  to  yo'self,  mebbe,"  he 
suggested. 

"I  reckon." 

They  walked  home  together  along  a  path  through 
the  rhododendrons.  The  long,  slender  legs  of  the 
girl  moved  rhythmically  and  her  arms  swung  like 
pendulums.  Life  in  the  open  had  given  her  the 
litheness  and  the  grace  of  a  woodland  creature. 
The  mountain  woman  is  cheated  of  her  youth  al- 
most before  she  has  learned  to  enjoy  it.  But  'Lindy 
was  still  under  eighteen.  Her  warm  vitality  still 
denied  the  coming  of  a  day  when  she  would  be  & 
sallow,  angular  snuff -chewer. 

Within  sight  of  the  log  cabin  the  girl  lingered  for 
a  moment  by  the  sassafras  bushes  near  the  spring. 
Some  deep  craving  for  sympathy  moved  her  to 
alien  speech.  She  turned  upon  him  with  an  im- 
perious, fierce  tenderness  in  her  eyes. 

"You'll  never  forgit  me,  Bud?  No  matter  what 
happens,  you'll  —  you'll  not  hate  me?" 

Her  unusual  emotion  embarrassed  and  a  little 
alarmed  him.  "Oh,  shucks!  They  ain't  anything 
goin'  to  happen,  sis.   What's  ailin'  you?" 


A  Man  Four-Square  7 

"But  if  anything  does.  You'll  not  hate  me  — 
you'll  remember  I  alius  thought  a  heap  of  you, 
Jimmie?"  she  insisted. 

"Doggone  it,  if  you're  still  thinkin'  of  that  scala- 
wag Dave  Roush — "  He  broke  off,  moved  by 
some  touch  of  prescient  tragedy  in  her  young  face. 
"Course  I  ain't  ever  a-goin'  to  forgit  you  none, 
sis.   Hit  ain't  likely,  is  it?" 

It  was  a  comfort  to  him  afterward  to  recall  that 
he  submitted  to  her  impulsive  caress  without  any 
visible  irritability. 

'Lindy  busied  herself  preparing  supper  for  her 
father  and  brother.  Ever  since  her  mother  died 
when  the  child  was  eleven  she  had  been  the  family 
housekeeper. 

At  dusk  Clay  Clanton  came  in  and  stood  his  rifle 
in  a  corner  of  the  room.  His  daughter  recognized 
ill-humor  in  the  grim  eyes  of  the  old  man.  He  was 
of  a  tall,  gaunt  figure,  strongly  built,  a  notable 
fighter  with  his  fists  in  the  brawling  days  before  he 
"got  religion"  at  a  camp  meeting.  Now  his  Cal- 
vinism was  of  the  sternest.  Dancing  he  held  to  be 
of  the  devil.  Card-playing  was  a  sin.  If  he  still 
drank  freely,  his  drinking  was  within  bounds.  But 
he  did  not  let  his  piety  interfere  with  the  feud. 
Within  the  year,  pillar  of  the  church  though  he 
was,  he  had  been  carried  home  riddled  with  bullets. 
Of  the  four  men  who  had  waylaid  him  two  had  been 
buried  next  day  and  a  third  had  kept  his  bed  for 
months. 

He  ate  for  a  time  in  dour  silence  before  he  turned 
harshly  on  'Lindy. 


8  A  Man  Four-Square 

"You  ain't  havin'  no  truck  with  Dave  Roush  are 
you?  Not  meetin'  up  with  him  on  the  sly?"  he  de- 
manded, his  deep-set  eyes  full  of  menace  under  the 
heavy,  grizzled  brows. 

"No,  I  ain't,"  retorted  the  girl,  and  her  voice 
was  sullen  and  defiant. 

"See  you  don't,  lessen  yo'  want  me  to  tickle  yore 
back  with  the  bud  again.  I  don't  allow  to  put  up 
with  no  foolishness."  He  turned  in  explanation  to 
the  boy.  "Brad  Nickson  seen  him  this  side  of  the 
river  to-day.  He  says  this  ain't  the  fustest  time 
Roush  has  been  seen  hangin'  'round  the  cove." 

The  boy's  wooden  face  betrayed  nothing.  He 
did  not  look  at  his  sister.  But  suspicions  began  to 
troop  through  his  mind.  He  thought  again  of  the 
voices  he  had  heard  by  the  river  and  he  remembered 
that  it  had  become  a  habit  of  the  girl  to  disappear 
for  hours  in  the  afternoon. 

'Lindy  went  to  her  room  early.  She  nursed 
against  her  father  not  only  resentment,  but  a  strong 
feeling  of  injustice.  He  would  not  let  her  attend  the 
frolics  of  the  neighborhood  because  of  his  scruples 
against  dancing.  Yet  she  had  heard  him  tell  how 
he  used  to  dance  till  daybreak  when  he  was  a  young 
man.  What  right  had  he  to  cut  her  off  from  the 
things  that  made  life  tolerable? 

She  was  the  heritor  of  lawless,  self-willed,  pas- 
sionate ancestors.  Their  turbulent  blood  beat  in 
her  veins.  All  the  safeguards  that  should  have 
hedged  her  were  gone.  A  wise  mother,  an  under- 
standing father,  could  have  saved  her  from  the 
tragedy  waiting  to  engulf  her.  But  she  had  neither 


A  Man  Four-Square  9 

of  these.  Instead,  her  father's  inhibitions  pushed 
her  toward  that  doom  to  which  she  was  moving 
blindfold. 

Before  her  cracked  mirror  the  girl  dressed  herself 
bravely  in  her  cheap  best.  She  had  no  joy  in  the 
thing  she  was  going  to  do.  Of  her  love  she  was  not 
sure  and  of  her  lover  very  unsure.  A  bell  of  warning 
rang  faintly  in  her  heart  as  she  waited  for  the  hours 
to  slip  away. 

A  very  little  would  have  turned  the  tide.  But 
she  nursed  her  anger  against  her  father,  fed  her 
resentment  with  the  memory  of  all  his  wrongs  to 
her.  When  at  last  she  crept  through  the  window  to 
the  dark  porch  trellised  with  wild  cucumbers,  she 
persuaded  herself  that  she  was  going  only  to  tell 
Dave  Roush  that  she  would  not  join  him. 

Her  heart  beat  fast  with  excitement  and  dread. 
Poor,  undisciplined  daughter  of  the  hills  though 
she  was,  a  rumor  of  the  future  whispered  in  her  ears 
and  weighted  her  bosom. 

Quietly  she  stole  past  the  sassafras  brake  to  the 
big  laurel.  Her  lover  took  her  instantly  into  his 
arms  and  kissed  the  soft  mouth  again  and  again. 
She  tried  to  put  him  from  her,  to  protest  that  she 
was  not  going  with  him.  But  before  his  ardor  her 
resolution  melted.  As  always,  when  he  was  with 
her,  his  influence  was  paramount. 

"The  boat  is  under  that  clump  of  bushes,"  he 
whispered. 

"Oh,  Dave,  I'm  not  goin',"  she  murmured. 

"Then  I'll  go  straight  to  the  house  an'  have  it 
out  with  the  old  man,"  he  answered. 


10  A  Man  Four-Square 

His  voice  rang  gay  with  the  triumph  of  victory. 
He  did  not  intend  to  let  her  hesitations  rob  him 
of  it. 

"  Some  other  night,"  she  promised.  "  Not  now  — 
I  don't  want  to  go  now.  I  —  I'm  not  ready." 

"There's  no  time  like  to-night,  honey.  My 
brother  came  with  me  in  the  boat.  We've  got 
horses  waitin'  —  an'  the  preacher  came  ten  miles  to 
do  the  job." 

Then,  with  the  wisdom  born  of  many  flirtations, 
he  dropped  argument  and  wooed  her  ardently.  The 
anchors  that  held  the  girl  to  safety  dragged.  The 
tug  of  sex,  her  desire  of  love  and  ignorance  of  life, 
his  eager  and  passionate  demand  that  she  trust 
him:  all  these  swelled  the  tide  that  beat  against  her 
prudence. 

She  caught  his  coat  lapels  tightly  in  her  clenched 
fists. 

"If  I  go  I'll  be  givin'  up  everything  in  the  world 
for  you,  Dave  Roush.  My  folks '11  hate  me.  They'd 
never  speak  to  me  again.  You'll  be  good  to  me. 
You  won't  cast  it  up  to  me  that  I  ran  away  with 
you.  You'll  —  you'll — "  Her  voice  broke  and 
she  gulped  down  a  little  sob. 

He  laughed.  She  could  not  see  his  face  in  the 
darkness,  but  the  sound  of  his  laughter  was  not 
reassuring.  He  should  have  met  her  appeal  seri- 
ously. 

The  girl  drew  back. 

He  sensed  at  once  his  mistake.  "  Good  to  you !  " 
he  cried.    "'Lindy,  I'm  a-goin'  to  be  the   best 


ever." 


A  Man  Four-Square  11 

"I  ain't  got  ary  mother,  Dave."  Again  she  choked 
in  her  throat.  "You  wouldn't  take  advantage  of 
me,  would  you?" 

He  protested  hotly.  Desiring  only  to  be  con- 
vinced, 'Lindy  took  one  last  precaution. 

"Swear  you'll  do  right  by  me  always." 

He  swore  it. 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  and  he  led  her  to  the  boat. 

Ranse  Roush  was  at  the  oars.  Before  he  had 
taken  a  dozen  strokes  a  wave  of  terror  swept  over 
her.  She  was  leaving  behind  forever  that  quiet, 
sunny  cove  where  she  had  been  brought  up.  The 
girl  began  to  shiver  against  the  arm  of  her  lover. 
She  heard  again  the  sound  of  his  low,  triumphant 
laughter. 

It  was  too  late  to  turn  back  now.  No  hysterical 
request  to  be  put  back  on  her  side  of  the  river  would 
move  these  men.  Instinctively  she  knew  that. 
From  to-night  she  was  to  be  a  Roush. 

They  found  horses  tied  to  saplings  in  a  small  cove 
close  to  the  river.  The  party  mounted  and  rode 
into  the  hills.  Except  for  the  ring  of  the  horses' 
hoofs  there  was  no  sound  for  miles.  'Lindy  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"Ain't  this  Quicksand  Creek?"  she  asked  of  her 
lover  as  they  forded  a  stream. 

He  nodded.  "The  sands  are  right  below  us  — 
not  more'n  seven  or  eight  steps  down  here  Cal 
Henson  was  sucked  under." 

After  another  stretch  ridden  in  silence  they 
turned  up  a  little  cove  to  a  light  shining  in  a  cabin 
window.   The  brothers  alighted  and  Dave  helped 


12  A  Man  Four-Square 

the  girl  down.  He  pushed  open  the  door  and  led  the 
way  inside. 

A  man  sat  by  the  fireside  with  his  feet  on  the 
table.  He  was  reading  a  newspaper.  A  jug  of 
whiskey  and  a  glass  were  within  reach  of  his  hand. 
Without  troubling  to  remove  his  boots  from  the 
table,  he  looked  up  with  a  leer  at  the  trembling  girl. 

Dave  spoke  at  once.  "We'll  git  it  over  with. 
The  sooner  the  quicker." 

'Lindy's  heart  was  drenched  with  dread.  She 
shrank  from  the  three  pairs  of  eyes  focused  upon 
her  as  if  they  had  belonged  to  wolves.  She  had 
hoped  that  the  preacher  might  prove  a  benevolent 
old  man,  but  this  man  with  the  heavy  thatch  of 
unkempt,  red  hair  and  furtive  eyes  set  askew  of- 
fered no  comfort.  If  there  had  been  a  single  friend 
of  her  family  present,  if  there  had  been  any  woman 
at  all !  If  she  could  even  be  sure  of  the  man  she  was 
about  to  marry ! 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  preacher  was  sneering 
when  he  put  the  questions  to  which  she  answered 
quaveringly.  Vaguely  she  felt  the  presence  of  some 
cruel,  sinister  jest  of  which  she  was  the  sport. 

After  the  ceremony  had  been  finished  the  three 
men  drank  together  while  she  sat  white-faced  before 
the  fire.  When  at  last  Ranse  Roush  and  the  red- 
headed preacher  left  the  cabin,  both  of  them  were 
under  the  influence  of  liquor.  Dave  had  drunk 
freely  himself. 

'Lindy  would  have  given  her  hopes  of  heaven  to 
be  back  safely  in  the  little  mud-daubed  bedroom 
she  had  called  her  own. 


A  Man  Four-Square  13 

Three  days  later  'Lindy  wakened  to  find  a  broad 
ribbon  of  sunshine  across  the  floor  of  the  cabin. 
Her  husband  had  not  come  home  at  all  the  night 
before.  She  shivered  with  self-pity  and  dressed 
slowly.  Already  she  knew  that  her  life  had  gone  to 
wreck,  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  live  with 
Dave  Roush  and  hold  her  self-respect. 

But  she  had  cut  herself  off  from  retreat.  All  of 
her  friends  belonged  to  the  Clanton  faction  and 
they  would  not  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
her.  She  had  no  home  now  but  this,  no  refuge 
against  the  neglect  and  insults  of  this  man  with 
whom  she  had  elected  to  go  through  life.  To  her 
mind  came  the  verdict  of  old  Nance  Cunningham 
on  the  imprudent  marriage  of  another  girl:  "'Ran- 
dy's done  made  her  bed;  I  reckon  she's  got  to  lie 
on  it." 

A  voice  hailed  the  cabin  from  outside.  She  went 
to  the  door.  Ranse  Roush  and  the  red-haired 
preacher  had  ridden  into  the  clearing  and  were 
dismounting.  They  had  with  them  a  led  horse. 

"Fix  up  some  breakfast,"  ordered  Ranse. 

The  young  wife  flushed.  She  resented  his  tone 
and  his  manner.  Like  Dave,  he  too  assumed  that 
she  had  come  to  be  a  drudge  for  the  whole  drunken 
clan,  a  creature  to  be  sneered  at  and  despised. 

Silently  she  cooked  a  meal  for  the  men.  The  girl 
was  past  tears.  She  had  wept  herself  out. 

While  they  ate  the  men  told  of  her  father's  fury 
when  he  had  discovered  the  elopement,  of  how  he 
had  gone  down  to  the  mill  and  cast  her  off  with  a 
father's  curse,  renouncing  all  relationship  with  her 


14  A  Man  Four-Square 

forever.  It  was  a  jest  that  held  for  them  a  great 
savor.  They  made  sport  of  him  and  of  the  other 
Clantons  till  she  could  keep  still  no  longer. 

"I  won't  stand  this!  I  don't  have  to!  Where's 
Dave?"  she  demanded,  eyes  flashing  with  con- 
tempt and  anger. 

Ranse  grinned,  then  turned  to  his  companion 
with  simulated  perplexity.  "Where  is  Dave, 
Brother  Hugh?" 

"Damfino,"  replied  the  red-headed  man,  and  the 
girl  could  see  that  he  was  gloating  over  her.  "Last 
night  he  was  at  a  dance  on  God-Forgotten  Crick. 
Dave's  soft  on  a  widow  up  there,  you  know." 

The  color  ebbed  from  the  face  of  the  wife.  One 
of  her  hands  clutched  at  the  back  of  a  chair  till  the 
knuckles  stood  out  white  and  bloodless.  Her  eyes 
fastened  with  a  growing  horror  upon  those  of  the 
red-headed  man.  She  had  come  to  the  edge  of  an 
awful  discovery. 

"  You  're  nqo  preacher.  Who  are  you?  " 

"Me?"  His  smile  was  cruel  as  death.  "You 
done  guessed  it,  sister.  I  'm  Hugh  Roush  —  Dave's 
brother." 

"An'  —  an'  —  my  marriage  was  all  a  lie?" 

"Did  ye  think  Dave  Roush  would  marry  a  Clan- 
ton?  He 's  a  bad  lot,  Dave  is,  but  he  ain't  come  that 
low  yet." 

For  the  first  and  last  time  in  her  life  'Lindy  fainted. 

Presently  she  floated  back  to  consciousness  and 
the  despair  of  a  soul  mortally  stricken.  She  saw 
it  all  now.  The  lies  of  Dave  Roush  had  enticed  her 
into  a  trap.    He  had  been  working  for  revenge 


A  Man  Four-Square  15 

against  the  family  he  hated,  especially  against 
brave  old  Clay  Clanton  who  had  killed  two  of  his 
kin  within  the  year.  With  the  craft  inherited  from 
savage  ancestors  he  had  sent  a  wound  more  deadly 
than  any  rifle  bullet  could  carry.  The  Clantons 
were  proud  folks,  and  he  had  dragged  their  pride 
in  the  mud. 

If  the  two  brothers  expected  her  to  make  a  scene, 
they  were  disappointed.  Numb  with  the  shock  of 
the  blow,  she  made  no  outcry  and  no  reproach. 

"  Git  a  move  on  ye,  gal,"  ordered  Ranse  after  he 
had  finished  eating.  "You're  goin'  with  us,  so  you 
better  hurry." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  me?"  she  asked 
dully. 

"Why,  Dave  don't  want  you  any  more.  We're 
goin'  to  send  you  home." 

"I  reckon  yore  folks  will  kill  the  fatted  calf  for 
you,"  jeered  Hugh  Roush.  "They  tell  me  you  al- 
ways been  mighty  high-heeled,  'Lindy  Clanton. 
Mebbe  you  won't  hold  yore  head  so  high  now." 

The  girl  rode  between  them  down  from  the  hills. 
Who  knows  into  what  an  agony  of  fear  and  remorse 
and  black  despair  she  fell?  She  could  not  go  home 
a  cast-off,  a  soiled  creature  to  be  scorned  and 
pointed  at.  She  dared  not  meet  her  father.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  look  her  little  brother  Jim- 
mie  in  the  face.  Would  they  believe  the  story  she 
told?  And  if  they  were  convinced  of  its  truth,  what 
difference  would  that  make?  She  was  what  she 
was,  no  matter  how  she  had  become  so. 

On  the  pike  they  met  old  Nance  Cunningham 


16  A  Man  Four-Square 

returning  from  the  mill  with  a  sack  of  meal.  The 
story  of  that  meeting  was  one  the  old  gossip  told 
after  the  tragedy  to  many  an  eager  circle  of  listeners. 

"She  jes'  lifted  her  han'  an'  stopped  me,  an'  if 
death  was  ever  writ  on  a  human  face  it  shorely  wuz 
stomped  on  hers.  *I  want  you  to  tell  my  father 
I'm  sorry,'  she  sez.  'He  swore  he'd  marry  me  in- 
side of  an  hour.  This  man  hyer  —  his  brother  — ■ 
made  out  like  he  wuz  a  preacher  an'  married  us. 
Tell  my  father  that  an'  ask  him  to  forgive  me  if  he 
can.'  That  wuz  all  she  said.  Ranse  Roush  hit  her 
horse  with  a  switch  an'  sez,  'Yo'  kin  tell  him  all 
that  yore  own  self  soon  as  you  git  home.'  I  reckon 
I  wuz  the  lastest  person  she  spoke  to  alive." 

They  left  the  old  woman  staring  after  them  with 
her  mouth  open.  It  could  have  been  only  a  few 
minutes  later  that  they  reached  Quicksand  Creek. 

'Lindy  pulled  up  her  horse  to  let  the  men  precede 
her  through  the  ford.  They  splashed  into  the  shal- 
lows on  the  other  side  of  the  creek  and  waited  for 
her  to  join  them.  Instead,  she  slipped  from  the  sad- 
dle, ran  down  the  bank,  and  plunged  into  the 
quicksand. 

"Goddlemighty!"  shrieked  Ranse.  "She's  a. 
drowndin'  herself  in  the  sands." 

They  spurred  their  horses  back  across  the  creek 
and  ran  to  rescue  the  girl.  But  she  had  flung  her- 
self forward  face  down  far  out  of  their  reach.  They 
dared  not  venture  into  the  quivering  bog  after  her. 
While  they  still  stared  in  a  frozen  horror,  the  trag- 
edy was  completed.  The  victim  of  their  revenge 
had  disappeared  beneath  the  surface  of  the  morass. 


Chapter  I 

"Call  Me  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  " 

The  boy  had  spent  the  night  at  a  water-hole  in  a 
little  draw  near  the  foot  of  the  mesa.  He  had 
supped  on  cold  rations  and  slept  in  his  blanket 
without  the  comfort  of  glowing  pifion  knots.  For 
yesterday  he  had  cut  Indian  signs  and  after  dark 
had  seen  the  shadow  of  Apache  camp-fires  reflected 
in  the  clouds. 

After  eating  he  swung  to  the  bare  back  of  his 
pony  and  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  butte.  His 
trained  eyes  searched  the  plains.  A  big  bunch  of 
antelope  was  trailing  down  to  water  almost  within 
rifle-shot.  But  he  was  not  looking  for  game. 

He  sniffed  the  smoke  from  the  pits  where  the 
renegades  were  roasting  mescal  and  judged  the  dis- 
tance to  the  Apache  camp  at  close  to  ten  miles.  His 
gaze  swept  toward  the  sunrise  horizon  and  rested 
upon  a  cloud  of  dust.  That  probably  meant  a  big 
herd  of  cattle  crossing  to  the  Pecos  Valley  on  the 
Chisum  Trail  that  led  to  Fort  Stanton.  The  riders 
were  likely  just  throwing  the  beeves  from  the  bed- 
ground  to  the  trail.  The  boy  waited  to  make  sure 
of  their  line  of  travel. 

Presently  he  spoke  aloud,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
plainsman  who  spends  much  time  alone  in  the  sad- 
dle. "Looks  like  they'll  throw  off  to-night  close  to 
the  Tache  camp.  If  they  do  hell's  a-goin'  to  p©p 


18  A  Man  Four-Square 

just  before  sunup  to-morrow.  I  reckon  I'll  ride 
over  and  warn  the  outfit." 

From  a  trapper  the  boy  had  learned  that  a  band 
of  Mescalero  Apaches  had  left  the  reservation  three 
weeks  before,  crossed  into  Mexico,  gone  plundering 
down  the  Pecos,  and  was  now  heading  back  toward 
the  Staked  Plains.  Evidently  the  drover  did  not 
know  this,  since  he  was  moving  his  cattle  directly 
toward  the  Indian  camp. 

The  young  fellow  let  his  cowpony  pick  its  way 
down  the  steep  shale  hill  to  the  draw.  He  saddled 
without  a  waste  motion,  packed  his  supplies  deftly, 
mounted,  and  was  off.  In  the  way  he  cut  across  the 
desert  toward  the  moving  herd  was  the  certainty  of 
the  frontiersman.  He  did  not  hurry,  but  he  wasted 
no  time.  His  horse  circled  in  and  out  among  the 
sand  dunes,  now  topped  a  hill,  now  followed  a  wash. 
Every  foot  of  the  devious  trail  was  the  most  eco- 
nomical possible. 

At  the  end  of  nearly  an  hour's  travel  he  pulled 
up,  threw  down  his  bridle  reins,  and  studied  the 
ground  carefully.  He  had  cut  Indian  sign.  What  he 
saw  would  have  escaped  the  notice  of  a  tenderfoot, 
and  if  it  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  none  but  an 
expert  trailer  would  have  understood  its  signifi- 
cance. Yet  certain  facts  were  printed  here  on  the 
desert  for  this  boy  as  plainly  as  if  they  had  been 
stenciled  on  a  guide-post.  He  knew  that  within 
forty-eight  hours  a  band  of  about  twenty  Mescalero 
bucks  had  returned  to  camp  this  way  from  an  ante- 
lope hunt  and  that  they  carried  with  them  half  a 
dozen  pronghorns.    It  was  a  safe  guess  that  they 


A  Man  Four-Square  19 

were  part  of  the  large  camp  the  smoke  of  which  he 
had  seen. 

Long  before  the  young  man  struck  the  drive,  he 
knew  he  was  close  by  the  cloud  of  dust  and  the 
bawling  of  the  cattle.  His  course  across  country 
had  been  so  accurate  that  he  hit  the  herd  at  the 
point  without  deflecting. 

An  old  Texan  drew  up,  changed  his  weight  on  the 
saddle  to  rest  himself,  and  hailed  the  youngster. 

"Goin'  somewheres,  kid,  or  just  ridin'?"  he 
asked  genially. 

"Just  takin'  my  hawss  out  for  a  jaunt  so's  he 
won't  get  hog-fat,"  grinned  the  boy. 

The  Texan  chewed  tobacco  placidly  and  eyed  the 
cowpony.  The  horse  had  been  ridden  so  far  that  he 
was  a  bag  of  bones. 

"Looks  some  gaunted,"  he  commented. 

"Four  Bits  is  so  thin  he  won't  throw  a  shadow," 
admitted  the  boy. 

"Come  a  right  smart  distance,  I  reckon?" 

"You  done  said  it." 

'  *  Where  you  headin'  for  ?  " 

"For  Deaf  Smith  County.  I  got  an  uncle  there. 
Saw  your  dust  an'  dropped  over  to  tell  you  that  a 
big  bunch  of  'Paches  are  camped  just  ahead  of 

you." 

The  older  man  looked  at  him  keenly.  "How  do 
you  know,  son?" 

"Smelt  their  smoke  an'  cut  their  trail." 
"Know  Injuns,  do  you?" 
"I  trailed  with  Al  Sieber  'most  two  years." 
To  have  served  with  Sieber  for  any  length  of  time 


20  A  Man  Four-Square 

was  a  certificate  of  efficiency.  He  was  the  ablest 
scout  in  the  United  States  Army.  Through  his 
skill  and  energy  Geronimo  and  his  war  braves  were 
later  forced  to  give  themselves  up  to  the  troops. 

"  'Nuff  said.  Are  these  Taches  liable  to  make  us 
any  trouble?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  think  they  are.  They're  a  bunch  of 
broncos  from  the  reservation  an'  they  have  been 
across  the  line  stealin'  horses  an'  murderin'  settlers. 
They  will  sure  try  to  stampede  your  cattle  an'  run 
off  a  lot  of  'em." 

"Hmp!  You  better  go  back  an'  see  old  man 
Webb  about  it.   What's  yore  name,  kid?" 

For  just  an  eye-beat  the  boy  hesitated.  "Call 
me  Jim  Thursday." 

A  glimmer  of  a  smile  rested  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Texan.  He  was  willing  to  bet  that  this  young  fellow 
would  not  have  given  him  that  name  if  to-day  had 
not  happened  to  be  the  fifth  day  of  the  week.  But 
it  was  all  one  to  the  cowpuncher.  To  question  a 
man  too  closely  about  his  former  residence  and 
manner  of  life  was  not  good  form  on  the  frontier. 

"Ill  call  you  Jim  from  Sunday  to  Saturday,"  he 
said,  pulling  a  tobacco  pouch  from  his  hip  pocket. 
"My  name  is  Wrayburn  —  Dad  Wrayburn,  the 
boys  call  me." 

The  Texan  shouted  to  the  man  riding  second  on 
the  swing.   "Oh,  you,  Billie  Prince!" 

A  tanned,  good-looking  young  fellow  cantered 

up' 

"Meet  Jimmie  Thursday,  Billie,"  the  old-timer 

said  by  way  of  introduction.  "This  boy  says  there's 


A  Man  Four-Square  21 

heap  many  Injuns  on  the  war-path  right  ahead  of 
us.  I  reckon  I  '11  let  you  take  the  point  while  I  ride 
back  with  him  an*  put  it  up  to  the  old  man/' 

The  "old  man"  turned  out  to  be  a  short,  heavy- 
set  Missourian  who  had  served  in  the  Union  Army 
and  won  a  commission  by  intelligence  and  courage. 
Wherever  the  name  of  Homer  Webb  was  known  it 
stood  for  integrity  and  square-dealing.  His  word 
was  as  good  as  a  signed  bond. 

Webb  had  come  out  of  the  war  without  a  cent, 
but  with  a  very  definite  purpose.  During  the  last 
year  of  the  Confederacy,  while  it  was  tottering  to 
its  fall,  he  had  served  in  Texas.  The  cattle  on  the 
range  had  for  years  been  running  wild,  the  owners 
and  herdsmen  being  absent  with  the  Southern 
army.  They  had  multiplied  prodigiously,  so  that 
many  thousands  of  mavericks  roamed  without 
brand,  the  property  of  any  one  who  would  round 
them  up  and  put  an  iron  on  their  flanks.  The 
money  value  of  them  was  very  little.  A  standard 
price  for  a  yearling  was  a  plug  of  tobacco.  But 
Webb  looked  to  the  future.  He  hired  two  riders, 
gathered  together  a  small  remuda  of  culls,  and 
went  into  the  cattle  business  with  energy.  To-day 
the  Flying  V  Y  was  stamped  on  forty  thousand 
longhorns. 

The  foreman  of  the  Flying  V  Y  was  riding  with 
the  owner  of  the  brand  at  the  drag  end  of  the  herd. 
He  was  a  hard-faced  citizen  known  as  Joe  Yankie. 
When  Wrayburn  had  finished  his  story,  the  fore- 
man showed  a  row  of  tobacco-stained  teeth  m  an 
unpleasant  grin. 


22  A  Man  Four-Square 

"Same  old  stuff,  Dad.  There  always  is  a  bunch  of 
bucks  off  the  reservation  an'  they're  always  just 
goin'  to  run  our  cattle  away.  If  you  ask  me  there's 
nothin'  to  it." 

Young  Thursday  flushed.  "If  you'll  ride  out 
with  me  I'll  show  you  their  trail." 

Yankie  looked  at  him  with  a  sneer.  He  guessed 
this  boy  to  be  about  eighteen.  There  was  a  sug- 
gestion of  effeminacy  about  the  lad's  small,  well- 
shaped  hands  and  feet.  He  was  a  slender,  smooth- 
faced youth  with  mild  blue  eyes.  It  occurred  to 
Webb,  too,  that  the  stranger  might  have  imagined 
the  Apaches.  But  in  his  motions  was  something  of 
the  lithe  grace  of  the  puma.  It  was  part  of  the 
business  of  the  cattleman  to  judge  men  and  he  was 
not  convinced  that  this  young  fellow  was  as  inoffen- 
sive as  he  looked. 

"Where  you  from?"  asked  the  drover. 

"From  the  San  Carlos  Agency." 

"  Ever  meet  a  man  named  Micky  Free  out  there?  " 

"  I '  ve  slept  under  the  same  tarp  with  him  many 's 
the  time  when  we  were  f  ollowin'  Chiricahua  'Paches. 
He 's  the  biggest  dare-devil  that  ever  forked  a  horse." 

"Describe  him." 

"Micky's  face  is  a  map  of  Ireland.  He's  got  only 
one  eye;  a  buck  punched  the  other  out  when  he 
was  a  kid.  His  hair  is  red  an'  he  wears  it  long." 

"Any  beard?" 

"A  bristly  little  red  mustache." 

"That's  Micky  to  a  T."  Webb  made  up  his 
mind  swiftly.  "The  boy's  all  right,  Yankie.  He'll 
do  to  take  along." 


A  Man  Four-Square  23 

"It's  your  outfit.  Suits  me  if  he  does  you."  The 
foreman  turned  insolently  to  the  newcomer. 
"What'd  you  say  your  name  was,  sissie?" 

The  eyes  of  the  boy,  behind  narrowed  lids,  grew 
hard  as  steel. 

"  Call  me  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em,"  he  drawled  in  a 
soft  voice,  every  syllable  distinct. 

There  was  a  moment  of  chill  silence.  A  swift 
surprise  had  flared  into  the  eyes  of  the  foreman, 
The  last  thing  in  the  world  he  had  expected  was  to 
have  his  bad  temper  resented  so  promptly  by  this 
smooth-faced  little  chap.  Since  Yankie  was  the 
camp  bully  he  bristled  up  to  protect  his  reputation, 

"Better  not  get  on  the  prod  with  me,  young  fek 
low  me  lad.  I'm  liable  to  muss  up  your  hair.  Me, 
I'm  from  the  Strip,  where  folks  grow  man-size." 

The  youngster  smiled,  but  there  was  no  mirth  in 
that  thin-lipped  smile.  He  knew,  as  all  men  did, 
that  the  Cherokee  Strip  was  the  home  of  desper- 
adoes and  man-killers.  The  refuse  of  the  country, 
driven  out  by  the  law  of  more  settled  communities, 
found  here  a  refuge  from  punishment.  But  if  the 
announcement  of  the  foreman  impressed  him,  he 
gave  no  sign  of  it. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  there?"  he  asked  with 
bland  innocence. 

Yankie  grew  apoplectic.  He  did  not  care  to  dis- 
cuss the  reasons  why  he  had  first  gone  to  the  Strip 
or  the  reasons  why  he  had  come  away.  This  girl- 
faced  boy  was  the  only  person  who  had  asked  for  a 
bill  of  particulars.  Moreover,  the  foreman  did  not 
know  whether  the  question  had  been  put  m  ciiild- 


24  A  Man  Four-Square 

like  ignorance  of  any  possible  offense  or  with  am 
impudent  purpose  to  enrage  him. 

"Don't  run  on  the  rope  when  I'm  holdin'  it, 
kid,"  he  advised  roughly.  "You're  liable  to  get 
thrown  hard." 

"And  then  again  I'm  liable  not  to,"  lisped  the 
youth  from  Arizona  gently. 

The  bully  looked  the  slim  newcomer  over  again, 
and  as  he  looked  there  rang  inside  him  some  tocsin 
of  warning.  Thursday  sat  crouched  in  the  saddle, 
wary  as  a  rattlesnake  ready  to  strike.  A  sawed-off 
shotgun  lay  under  his  leg  within  reach  of  his  hand, 
the  butt  of  a  six-gun  was  even  closer  to  those 
smooth,  girlish  fingers.  In  the  immobility  of  his 
figure  and  the  steadiness  of  the  blue  eyes  was  a 
deadly  menace. 

Yankie  was  no  coward.  He  would  go  through  if 
he  had  to.  But  there  was  still  time  to  draw  back 
if  he  chose.  He  was  not  exactly  afraid;  on  the 
other  hand,  he  did  not  feel  at  all  easy. 

He  contrived  a  casual,  careless  laugh.  "All  right, 
kid.  I  don't  have  to  rob  the  cradle  to  fill  my  pri- 
vate graveyard.  Go  get  your  Injuns.  It  will  be 
all  right  with  me." 

Webb  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  There  was  to  be 
no  gunplay  after  all.  He  had  had  his  own  reasons 
for  not  interfering  sooner,  but  he  knew  that  the 
situation  had  just  grazed  red  tragedy. 

"I'm  goin'  to  take  the  boy's  advice,"  he  an- 
nounced to  Yankie.  "Hide  forward  an'  swing  the 
herd  toward  that  big  red  butte.  We'll  give  our 
Meecalero  friends  a  wide  berth  if  we  can." 


fibi  Man  Four-Square  25 

The  foreman  hung  in  the  saddle  a  moment  before 
he  turned  to  go.  He  had  to  save  his  face  from  a 
public  back-down.  "Bet  you  a  week's  pay  there's 
nothin'  to  it,  Webb." 

"  Hope  you  're  right,  Joe,"  his  employer  answered. 

As  soon  as  Yankie  had  cantered  away,  Dad 
Wrayburn,  ex-Confederate  trooper,  slapped  his 
hand  on  his  thigh  and  let  out  a  modulated  rebel 

yell. 

"Dad  burn  my  hide,  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em,  you're 
all  right.  Fustest  time  I  ever  saw  Joe  take  water, 
but  he  shorely  did  splash  some  this  here  occasion. 
I  would  n't  'a'  missed  it  for  a  bunch  of  hog-fat 
yearlin's." 

Webb  had  not  been  sorry  to  see  his  arrogant 
foreman  brought  up  with  a  sharp  turn,  but  in  the 
interest  of  discipline  he  did  not  care  to  say  so. 

"Why  can't  you  boys  get  along  peaceable  with 
Joe,  I'd  like  to  know?  This  snortin'  an'  pawin'  up 
the  ground  don't  get  you  anything." 

"I  reckon  Joe  does  most  of  the  snortin'  that's 
done,"  Wrayburn  answered  dryly.  "I  ain't  had 
any  trouble  with  him,  because  he  spends  a  heap  of 
time  lettin'  me  alone.  But  there's  no  manner  of 
doubt  that  Joe  rides  the  boys  too  hard." 

The  drover  dismissed  the  subject  and  turned  to 
Thursday. 

"Want  a  job?" 

"Mebbeso." 

"I  need  another  man.  Since  you  sabe  the  ways 
of  the  'Paches  I  can  use  you  to  scout  ahead  for  us." 

"What  you  payin'?" 


26  A  Man  Four-Square 

"Fifty  a  month." 

"You've  hired  a  hand." 

"Good  enough.  Better  pick  one  of  the  boys  to 
ride  with  you  while  you  are  out  scoutin'." 

"I'll  take  Billie  Prince,"  decided  the  new  rider 
at  once. 

"You  know  Billie?" 

"Never  saw  him  before  to-day.  But  I  like  his 
looks.  He's  a  man  to  tie  to." 

"You're  right  he  is." 

The  drover  looked  at  his  new  employee  with  a 
question  in  his  shrewd  eyes.  The  boy  was  either 
a  man  out  of  a  thousand  or  he  was  a  first-class 
bluffer.  He  claimed  to  have  cut  Indian  sign  and 
to  know  exactly  what  was  written  there.  At  a 
single  glance  he  had  sized  up  Prince  and  knew  him 
for  a  reliable  side  partner.  Without  any  bluster  he 
had  served  notice  on  Yankie  that  it  would  be  dan- 
gerous to  pick  on  him  as  the  butt  of  his  ill-temper. 

In  those  days,  on  the  Pecos,  law  lay  in  a  holster 
on  a  man's  thigh.  The  individual  was  a  force  only 
so  far  as  his  personality  impressed  itself  upon  his 
fellows.  If  he  made  claims  he  must  be  prepared  to 
back  them  to  a  fighting  finish. 

Was  this  young  Thursday  a  false  alarm?  Or  was 
he  a  good  man  to  let  alone  when  one  was  looking 
for  trouble?  Webb  could  not  be  sure  yet,  though  he 
made  a  shrewd  guess.  But  he  knew  it  would  not 
he  long  before  he  found  out. 


Chapter  II 

Shoot-a-Buck  Canon 

Webb  sent  for  Billie  Prince. 

"Seems  there's  a  bunch  of  bronco  'Paches 
camped  ahead  of  us,  Billie.  Thursday  here  trailed 
with  Sieber.  I  want  you  an'  him  to  scout  in  front 
of  us  an'  see  we  don't  run  into  any  ambush.  You  're 
under  his  orders,  y'  understand." 

Prince  was  a  man  of  few  words.  He  nodded. 

"You  know  the  horses  that  the  boys  claim.  Well, 
take  Thursday  to  the  remuda  an'  help  him  pick  a 
mount  from  the  extras  in  place  of  that  broomtail 
he's  ridin',"  continued  the  drover.  "Look  alive 
now.  I  don't  want  my  cattle  stampeded  because 
we  have  n't  got  sense  enough  to  protect  'em.  No 
'Paches  can  touch  a  hoof  of  my  stock  if  I  can  help  it." 

"If  they  attack  at  all  it  will  probably  be  just 
before  daybreak,  but  it  is  just  as  well  to  be  ready 
for  'em,"  suggested  Thursday. 

"I  brought  along  some  old  Sharps  an'  some 
Spencers.  I  reckon  111  have  'em  loaded  an'  dis- 
tribute 'em  among  the  boys.  Billie,  tell  Yankie  to 
have  that  done.  The  rifles  are  racked  up  in  the  calf 
wagon." 

Billie  delivered  the  orders  of  the  drover  to  the 
foreman  as  they  passed  on  their  way  to  the  remuda. 
Joe  gave  a  snort  of  derision,  but  let  it  go  at  that. 
When  Homer  Webb  was  with  one  of  his  trail  out- 
fits he  was  always  its  boss. 


28  A  Man  Four-Square 

While  Thursday  watched  him,  Prince  roped  out 
a  cinnamon  horse  from  the  remuda.  The  cow- 
puncher  was  a  long-bodied  man,  smooth-muscled 
and  lithe.  The  boy  had  liked  his  level  eye  and  his 
clean,  brown  jaw  before,  just  as  now  he  approved 
the  swift  economy  of  his  motions. 

Probably  Billie  was  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
but  in  that  country  men  ripened  young.  Both  of 
these  lads  had  been  brought  up  in  that  rough-and- 
ready  school  of  life  which  holds  open  session  every 
day  of  the  year.  Both  had  already  given  proofs  of 
their  ability  to  look  out  for  themselves  in  emergency. 
A  wise,  cool  head  rested  on  each  of  these  pairs  of 
young  shoulders.  In  this  connection  it  is  worth 
mentioning  that  the  West's  most  famous  outlaw, 
Billie  the  Kid,  a  killer  with  twenty-one  notches  on 
his  gun,  had  just  reached  his  majority  when  he  met 
his  death  some  years  later  at  the  hands  of  Pat 
Garrett. 

The  new  rider  for  the  Flying  V  Y  outfit  did  not 
accept  the  judgment  of  Prince  without  confirming 
it.  He  examined  the  hoofs  of  the  horse  and  felt  its 
legs  carefully.  He  looked  well  to  its  ears  to  make 
sure  that  ticks  from  the  mesquite  had  not  infected 
the  silky  inner  flesh. 

"A  good  bronc,  looks  like,"  he  commented. 

"One  of  the  fastest  in  the  remuda  —  not  very 
gentle,  though." 

Thursday  picked  the  witches'  bridles  from  its 
mane  before  he  saddled.  As  his  foot  found  the  stir- 
rup the  cinnamon  rose  into  the  air,  humped  its  back, 
and  came  down  with  all  four  legs  stiff.  The  quirt 


A  Man  Four-Square  29 

burned  its  flank,  and  the  animal  went  up  again  to 
whirl  round  in  the  air.  The  boy  stuck  to  the  saddle 
and  let  out  a  joyous  whoop.  The  battle  was  on. 

Suddenly  as  it  had  begun  the  contest  ended. 
With  the  unreasoning  impulse  of  the  half -broken 
cowpony  the  cinnamon  subsided  to  gentle  obedi- 
ence. 

The  two  riders  cantered  across  the  prairie  in  the 
direction  of  the  Indian  camp.  That  the  Apaches 
were  still  there  Thursday  thought  altogether  likely, 
for  he  knew  that  it  takes  a  week  to  make  mescal. 
No  doubt  the  raiders  had  stopped  to  hold  a  jam- 
boree over  the  success  of  their  outbreak. 

The  scouts  from  the  cattle  herd  deflected  toward 
a  butte  that  pushed  out  as  a  salient  into  the  plain. 
From  its  crest  they  could  get  a  sweeping  view  of 
the  valley. 

"  There  's  a  gulch  back  of  it  that  leads  to  old  man 
Roubideau's  place,"  explained  Prince.  "Last  time 
we  were  on  this  Pecos  drive  the  boss  stopped  an' 
bought  a  bunch  of  three-year-olds  from  him.  He 's 
got  a  daughter  that's  sure  a  pippin,  old  man 
Roubideau  has.  Shoot,  ride,  rope  —  that  girl 's  got 
a  lot  of  these  alleged  bullwhackers  beat  a  mile  at 
any  one  of  'em." 

Thursday  did  not  answer.  He  had  left  the  saddle 
and  was  examining  the  ground  carefully.  Billie 
joined  him.  In  the  soft  sand  of  the  wash  were 
tracks  of  horses'  hoofs.  Patiently  the  trailer  fol- 
lowed them  foot  by  foot  to  the  point  where  they 
left  the  dry  creek-bed  and  swung  up  the  broken 
bank  to  a  swale. 


30  A  Man  Four-Square 

"Probably  Roubideau  and  his  son  Jean  after 
strays,"  suggested  Prince. 

"No.  Notice  this  track  here,  how  it's  broken  off 
at  the  edge.  When  I  cut  Indian  sign  yesterday,  this 
was  one  of  those  I  saw." 

"Then  these  are  'Paches  too?" 

"Yes." 

"Goin'  to  the  Roubideau  place."  The  voice  of 
Billie  was  low  and  husky.  His  brown  young  face 
had  been  stricken  gray.  Bleak  fear  lay  in  the  gray 
eyes.  His  companion  knew  he  was  thinking  of  the 
girl.   "How  many  of  'em  do  you  make  out?" 

"Six  or  seven.  Not  sure  which." 

"How  old?" 

"They  passed  here  not  an  hour  since." 

It  was  as  if  a  light  of  hope  had  been  lit  in  the  face 
of  the  young  man.  "Mebbe  there's  time  to  help 
yet.  Kid,  I'm  goin' in." 

Jim  Thursday  made  no  reply,  unless  it  was  one 
to  vault  to  the  saddle  and  put  his  horse  to  the  gal- 
lop. They  rode  side  by  side,  silently  and  alertly, 
rifles  across  the  saddle-horns  in  their  hands.  The 
boy  from  Arizona  looked  at  his  new  friend  with  an 
increase  of  respect.  This  was,  of  course,  a  piece  of 
'magnificent  folly.  What  could  two  boys  do  against 
half  a  dozen  wily  savages?  But  it  was  the  sort  of 
madness  that  he  loved.  His  soul  went  out  in  a  gush 
of  warm,  boyish  admiration  to  Billie  Prince.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  a  friendship  that  was  to  endure,  in 
spite  of  rivalry  and  division  and  misunderstanding, 
through  many  turbid  years  of  trouble.  This  was  no 
affair  of  theirs.  Webb  had  sent  them  out  to  protect 


A  Man  Four-Square  31 

the  cattle  drive.  They  were  neglecting  his  business 
for  the  sake  of  an  adventure  that  might  very  well 
mean  the  death  of  both  of  them.  But  it  was  char- 
acteristic of  Thursday  that  it  never  even  occurred 
to  him  to  let  Prince  take  the  chance  alone.  Even  in 
the  days  to  come,  when  his  name  was  anathema  in 
the  land,  nobody  ever  charged  that  he  would  not 
go  through  with  a  comrade. 

There  drifted  to  them  presently  the  faint  sound 
of  a  shot.  It  was  followed  by  a  second  and  a 
third. 

"The  fight's  on,"  cried  Thursday. 

Billie's  quirt  stung  the  flank  of  his  pony.  Near 
the  entrance  to  the  canon  his  companion  caught  up 
with  him.  From  the  rock  walls  of  the  gulch  came 
to  them  booming  echoes  of  rifles  in  action. 

"Roubideau  must  be  standin'  'em  off,"  shouted 
Prince. 

"Can  we  take  the  'Paches  by  surprise?  Is  there 
any  other  way  into  the  canon?" 

"Don't  know.  Can't  stop  to  find  out.  I'mgoin, 
straight  up  the  road." 

The  younger  man  offered  no  protest.  It  might 
well  be  that  the  ranchman  was  in  desperate  case 
and  in  need  of  immediate  help  to  save  his  family. 
Anyhow,  the  decision  was  out  of  his  hands. 

The  horses  pounded  forward  and  swept  round  a 
curve  of  the  gulch  into  sight  of  the  ranch.  In  a 
semicircle,  crouched  behind  the  shelter  of  boulders 
and  cottonwoods,  the  Indian  line  stretched  across 
the  gorge  and  along  one  wall.  The  buildings  lay  in 
a  little  valley,  where  an  arroyo  ran  down  at  a  right 


32  A  Man  Four-Square 

angle  and  broke  the  rock  escarpment.  A  spurt  of 
smoke  came  from  a  window  of  the  stable  as  the 
rescuers  galloped  into  view. 

One  of  the  Apaches  caught  sight  of  them  and 
gave  a  guttural  shout  of  warning.  His  gun  jumped 
to  the  shoulder  and  simultaneously  the  bullet  was 
on  its  way.  But  no  living  man  could  throw  a  shot 
quicker  than  Jim  Thursday,  if  the  stories  still  told 
of  him  around  camp-fires  are  true.  Now  he  did  not 
wait  to  take  sight,  but  fired  from  his  hip.  The  In- 
dian rose,  half-turned,  and  fell  forward  across  the 
boulder,  his  naked  body  shining  in  the  sun.  By  a 
hundredth  part  of  a  second  the  white  boy  had  out- 
speeded  him. 

The  riders  flung  themselves  from  their  horses  and 
ran  for  cover. 

The  very  audacity  of  their  attack  had  its  effect. 
The  Indians  guessed  these  two  were  the  advance 
guard  of  a  larger  party  which  had  caught  them  in  a 
trap.  Between  two  fires,  with  one  line  of  retreat 
cut  off,  the  bronco  Apaches  wasted  no  time  in  de- 
liberation. They  made  a  rush  for  their  horses, 
mounted,  and  flew  headlong  toward  the  arroyo, 
their  bodies  lying  low  on  the  backs  of  the  ponies. 

The  Indians  rode  superbly,  their  bare,  sinewy 
legs  gripping  even  to  the  moccasined  feet  the  sides 
of  the  ponies.  Without  saddle  or  bridle,  except  for 
the  simple  nose  rope,  they  guided  their  mounts 
surely,  the  brown  bodies  rising  and  falling  in  per- 
fect accord  with  the  motion  of  the  horses. 

A  shot  from  the  stable  hit  one  as  he  galloped  past. 
While  his  horse  was  splashing  through  the  creek 


A  Man  Four-Square  33 

the  Mescalero  slid  slowly  down,  head  first,  into  the 
brawling  water. 

Billie  took  a  long,  steady  aim  and  fired.  A  horse 
stumbled  and  went  down,  flinging  the  rider  over  its 
head.  With  a  "  Yip  —  Yip ! "  of  triumph  Thursday 
drew  a  bead  on  the  man  as  he  rose  and  dodged  for- 
ward. Just  as  the  boy  fired  a  sharp  pain  stung  his 
foot.  One  of  the  escaping  natives  had  wounded 
him.  ' 

The  dismounted  man  ran  forward  a  few  steps  and 
pulled  himself  to  the  back  of  a  pony  already  carry- 
ing one  rider.  Something  in  the  man's  gait  and 
costume  struck  Prince. 

"That  fellow's  no  Injun,"  he  called  to  his  friend. 

"Look!"  Thursday  was  pointing  to  the  saddle- 
back between  two  peaks  at  the  head  of  the  arroyo. 

A  girl  on  horseback  had  just  come  over  the  sum- 
mit and  stood  silhouetted  against  the  sky.  Even  in 
that  moment  while  they  watched  her  she  realized 
for  the  first  time  her  danger.  She  turned  to  fly,  and 
she  and  her  horse  disappeared  down  the  opposite 
slope.  The  Mescaleros  swept  up  the  hill  toward  her. 

"They'll  git  her!  They'll  sure  git  her!"  cried 
Billie,  making  for  his  horse. 

The  younger  man  ran  limping  to  his  cinnamon. 
At  every  step  he  winced,  and  again  while  his  weight 
rested  on  the  wounded  foot  as  he  dragged  himself 
to  the  saddle.  A  dozen  yards  behind  his  companion 
he  sent  his  horse  splashing  through  the  creek. 

The  cowponies,  used  to  the  heavy  going  in 
the  hills,  took  the  slope  in  short,  quick  plunges. 
Neither  of  the  young  men  used  the  spur,  for  the 


34  A  Man  Four-Square 

chase  might  develop  into  a  long  one  with  stamina 
the  deciding  factor.  The  mesquite  was  heavy  and 
the  hill  steep,  but  presently  they  struck  a  cattle 
run  which  led  to  the  divide. 

Two  of  the  Apaches  stopped  at  the  summit  for  a 
shot  at  their  pursuers,  but  neither  of  the  young  men 
wasted  powder  in  answer.  They  knew  that  close- 
range  work  would  prove  far  more  deadly  and  that 
only  a  chance  hit  could  serve  them  now. 

From  Billie,  who  had  reached  the  crest  first, 
came  a  cry  of  dismay.  His  partner,  a  moment  later, 
knew  the  reason  for  it.  One  of  the  Apaches,  racing 
across  the  valley  below,  was  almost  at  the  heels  of 
the  girl. 

The  cowpunchers  flung  their  ponies  down  the 
sharp  incline  recklessly.  The  animals  were  sure- 
footed as  mountain  goats.  Otherwise  they  could 
never  have  reached  the  valley  right  side  up.  It  was 
a  stretch  of  broken  shale  with  much  loose  rubble. 
The  soft  sandstone  farther  along  had  eroded  and 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  slack  debris  down  which 
the  horses  slipped  and  slid,  now  on  their  haunches 
and  again  on  all  fours. 

The  valley  stretched  for  a  mile  before  them  and 
terminated  at  a  rock  wall  into  which,  no  doubt,  one 
or  more  caiions  cut  like  sword  clefts.  The  cow- 
punchers  had  picked  mounts,  but  it  was  plain  they 
could  not  overhaul  the  Apaches  before  the  Indians 
captured  the  girl. 

Hie,  even  while  galloping  at  full  speed,  began 

u  long-distance  fire  upon  the  enemy.    One  of  the 

caleros  had  caught  the  bridle  of  the  young 


A  Man  Four-Square  35 

woman's  horse  and  was  stopping  the  animal.  It 
looked  for  a  moment  as  if  the  raiders  were  going  to 
make  a  stand,  but  presently  their  purpose  became 
clear  to  those  in  pursuit.  The  one  that  Billie  had 
picked  for  a  renegade  white  dropped  from  the  horse 
upon  which  he  was  riding  double  and  swung  up 
behind  the  captive.  The  huddle  of  men  and  ponies 
opened  up  and  was  in  motion  again  toward  the  head 
of  the  valley. 

But  though  the  transfer  had  been  rapid,  it  had 
taken  time.  The  pursuers,  thundering  across  the 
valley,  had  gained  fast.  Rifles  barked  back  and 
forth  angrily. 

The  Indians  swerved  sharply  to  the  left  for  the 
mouth  of  a  canon.  Here  they  pulled  up  to  check 
the  cowboys,  who  slid  from  their  saddles  to  use 
their  ponies  for  protection. 

"That  gorge  to  the  right  is  called  Escondido 
Canon,"  explained  Prince.  "We  combed  it  for 
cattle  last  year.  About  three  miles  up  it  runs  into 
the  one  where  the  Taches  are.  Don't  remember  the 
name  of  that  one." 

"  I  '11  give  it  a  new  name,"  answered  the  boy.  He 
raised  his  rifle,  rested  it  across  the  back  of  his  pony, 
and  took  careful  aim.  An  Indian  plunged  from  his 
horse.  "  Shoot-a-Buck  Canon  —  how '11  that  do  for 
a  name?"  inquired  Thursday  with  a  grin. 

Prince  let  out  a  whoop.  "You  got  him  right. 
He  '11  never  smile  again.  Shoot-a-Buck  Canon  goes." 

The  Indians  evidently  held  a  hurried  consulta- 
tion and  changed  their  minds  about  holding  the 
gorge  against  such  deadly  shooting  as  this. 


36  A  Man  Four-Square 

" They  're  gun-shy/'  announced  Thursday.  "They 
don't  like  the  way  we  fog  'em  and  they're  goin'  to 
hit  the  trail,  Billie." 

After  one  more  shot  Prince  made  the  mistake  of 
leaving  the  shelter  of  his  horse  too  soon.  He  swung 
astride  and  found  the  stirrup.  A  puff  of  smoke  came 
from  the  entrance  to  the  gulch.  Billie  turned  to  his 
friend  with  a  puzzled,  sickly  smile  on  his  face. 
"They  got  me,  kid." 

"Bad?" 

The  cowboy  began  to  sag  in  the  saddle.  His 
friend  helped  him  to  the  ground.  The  wound  was 
in  the  thigh. 

"I'll  tie  it  up  for  you  an'  you'll  be  good  as  new," 
promised  his  friend. 

The  older  man  looked  toward  the  gorge.  No 
Indians  were  in  sight. 

"I  can  wait,  but  that  little  girl  in  the  hands  of 
those  devils  can't.  Are  you  game  to  play  a  lone 
hand,  kid?"  he  asked. 

"I  reckon." 

"Then  ride  hell-for-leather  up  Escondido.  It's 
shorter  than  the  way  they  took.  Where  the  gulches 
come  together  be  waitin'  an'  git  'em  from  the  brush. 
There's  just  one  slim  chance  you'll  make  it  an' 
come  back  alive." 

The  boy's  eyes  were  shining.  "Suits  me  fine. 
I  '11  go  earn  that  name  I  christened  myself  —  Jim- 
mie-Go-Get-'Em." 

Billie,  his  face  twisted  with  pain,  watched  the 
youngster  disappear  at  a  breakneck  gallop  into 
Escondido. 


Chapter  III 

Ranse  Roush  Pays 

Jim  Thursday  knew  that  his  sole  chance  of  suc- 
cess lay  in  reaching  the  fork  of  the  canons  before 
the  Indians.  So  far  he  had  been  lucky.  Three 
Apaches  had  gone  to  their  happy  hunting  ground* 
and  though  both  he  and  Billie  were  wounded,  his 
hurt  at  least  did  not  interfere  with  accurate  rifle- 
fire.  But  it  was  not  reasonable  to  expect  such  good 
fortune  to  hold.  In  the  party  he  was  pursuing  were 
four  men,  all  of  them  used  to  warfare  in  the  open. 
Unless  he  could  take  them  at  a  disadvantage  he 
could  not  by  any  possibility  defeat  them  and  rescue 
their  captive. 

His  cinnamon  pony  took  the  rising  ground  at  a 
steady  gallop.  Its  stride  did  not  falter,  though  its 
breathing  was  labored.  Occasionally  the  rider 
touched  its  flank  with  the  sharp  rowel  of  a  spur. 
The  boy  was  a  lover  of  horses.  He  had  ridden  too 
many  dry  desert  stretches,  had  too  often  kept 
night  watch  over  a  sleeping  herd,  not  to  care  for  the 
faithful  and  efficient  animal  that  served  him  and 
was  a  companion  to  his  loneliness.  Like  many 
plainsmen  he  made  of  his  mount  a  friend. 

But  he  dared  not  spare  his  pony  now.  He  must 
ride  the  heart  out  of  the  gallant  brute  for  the  sake 
of  that  life  he  had  come  to  save.  And  while  he 
mrged  it  on,  his  hand  patted  the  sweat-stained 
and  his  low  voice  sympathized. 


38  A  Man  Four-Square 

"You've  got  to  go  to  it,  old  fellow,  if  it  kills 
you,"  he  said  aloud.  "We  got  to  save  that  girl  for 
Billie,  ain't  we?  We  can't  let  those  red  devils  take 
her  away,  can  we?" 

It  was  a  rough  cattle  trail  he  followed,  strewn 
here  with  boulders  and  there  tilted  down  at  break- 
neck angle  of  slippery  shale.  Sometimes  it  fell 
abruptly  into  washes  and  more  than  once  rose  so 
sharply  that  a  heather  cat  could  scarce  have  clam- 
bered up.  But  Thursday  flung  his  horse  recklessly 
at  the  path,  taking  chances  of  a  fall  that  might 
end  the  mad  race.  He  could  not  wait  to  pick  a 
way.  His  one  hope  lay  in  speed,  in  reaching  the 
fork  before  the  enemy.  He  sacrificed  everything  to 
that. 

From  the  top  of  a  sharp  pitch  he  looked  down 
into  the  twin  canon  of  Escondido.  A  sharp  bend 
cut  off  the  view  to  the  left,  so  that  he  could  see  for 
only  seventy-five  or  a  hundred  yards.  But  his 
glance  followed  the  gulch  up  for  half  a  mile  arid 
found  no  sign  of  life.  He  was  in  time. 

Swiftly  he  made  his  preparations.  First  he  led 
the  exhausted  horse  back  to  a  clump  of  young  cot- 
tonwoods  and  tied  it  safely.  From  its  place  beside 
the  saddle  he  took  the  muley  gun  and  with  the  rifle 
in  his  other  hand  he  limped  swiftly  back  to  the 
trail.  Every  step  was  torture,  but  he  could  not  stop 
to  think  of  that  now.  His  quick  eye  picked  a  per- 
fect spot  for  an  ambush  where  a  great  rock  leaned 
against  another  at  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  Between 
the  two  was  a  narrow  opening  through  which  he 
could  command  the  bend  in  the  trail  below.   To 


A  Man  Four-Square  39 

enlarge  this  he  scooped  out  the  dirt  with  his  fingers, 
then  reloaded  the  rifle  and  thrust  it  into  the  crev- 
ice.  The  sawed-off  shotgun  lay  close  to  his  hand. 

Till  now  he  had  found  no  time  to  get  nervous, 
but  as  the  minutes  passed  he  began  to  tremble  vio- 
lently and  to  whimper.'  In  spite  of  his  experience 
he  was  only  a  boy  and  until  to-day  had  never  killed 
a  man. 

"Doggone  it,  if  I  ain't  done  gone  an'  got  buck 
fever,"  he  reproached  himself.  "I  reckon  it's  be- 
cause Billie  Prince  ain't  here  that  I  'm  so  scairt.  I 
wisht  I  had  a  drink,  so  as  I  'd  be  right  when  the  old 
muley  gun  gits  to  barkin'." 

A  faint  sound,  almost  indistinguishable,  echoed 
up  the  gulch  to  him.  Miraculously  his  nervousness 
vanished.  Every  nerve  was  keyed  up,  every  muscle 
tense,  but  he  was  cool  as  water  in  a  mountain 
stream. 

The  sound  repeated  itself,  a  faint  tinkle  of  gravel 
rolling  from  a  trail  beneath  the  hoof  of  a  horse.  At 
the  last  moment  Thursday  changed  his  mind  and 
substituted  the  shotgun  for  the  rifle. 

"Old  muley  she  spatters  all  over  the  State  of 
Texas.   I  might  git  two  at  once,"  he  muttered. 

The  light,  distant  murmur  of  voices  reached  him. 
His  trained  ear  told  him  just  how  far  away  the 
speakers  were. 

An  Apache  rounded  the  bend,  a  tall,  slender 
young  brave  wearing  only  a  low-cut  breech-cloth 
and  a  pair  of  moccasins.  Around  his  waist  was 
strapped  a  belt  full  of  cartridges  and  from  it  pro- 
jected the  handle  of  a  long  Mexican  knife.    The 


40  A  Man  Four-Square 

brown  body  of  the  youth  was  lithe  and  graceful  as 
that  of  a  panther.  He  was  smiling  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  next  rider  in  line,  a  heavy-set,  squat  figure 
on  a  round-bellied  pinto.  That  smile  was  to  go  out 
presently  like  the  flame  of  a  blown  candle.  A  third 
Mescalero  followed.  Like  that  of  the  others,  his 
coarse,  black  hair  fell  to  the  shoulders,  free  except 
for  a  band  that  encircled  the  forehead. 

Still  the  boy  did  not  fire.  He  waited  till  the  last 
of  the  party  appeared,  a  man  in  fringed  buckskin 
breeches  and  hickory  shirt  riding  pillion  behind  a 
young  woman.  Both  of  these  were  white. 

The  sawed-off  gun  of  Thursday  covered  the  sec- 
ond rider  carefully.  Before  the  sound  of  the  shot 
boomed  down  the  gorge  the  Apache  was  lifted  from 
the  bare  back  of  the  pony.  The  heavy  charge  of 
buckshot  had  riddled  him  through  and  through. 

Instantly  the  slim,  young  brave  in  the  lead  dug 
his  heels  into  the  flank  of  his  pony,  swung  low  to  the 
far  side  so  that  only  a  leg  was  visible,  and  flew 
arrow-straight  up  the  canon  for  safety.  Thursday 
let  him  go. 

Twice  his  rifle  rang  out.  At  that  distance  it  was 
impossible  for  a  good  shot  to  miss.  One  bullet 
passed  through  the  head  of  the  third  Mescalero. 
The  other  brought  down  the  pony  upon  which  the 
whites  were  riding. 

The  fall  of  the  horse  flung  the  girl  free,  but  the 
foot  of  her  captor  was  caught  between  the  saddle 
and  the  ground.  Thursday  drew  a  bead  on  him 
while  he  lay  there  helpless,  but  some  impulse  of 
mercy  held  his  hand.   The  man  was  that  creature 


A  Man  Four-Square  41 

accursed  in  the  border  land,  a  renegade  who  has 
turned  his  face  against  his  own  race  and  must  to 
prove  his  sincerity  to  the  tribe  out-Apache  an 
Apache  at  cruelty.  Still,  he  was  white  after  all  — 
and  Jim  Thursday  was  only  eighteen. 

Rifle  in  hand  the  boy  clambered  down  the  jagged 
rock  wall  to  the  dry  river-bed  below.  The  foot  of 
his  high-heeled  boot  was  soggy  with  blood,  but  for 
the  present  he  had  to  ignore  the  pain  messages  that 
throbbed  to  his  brain.  The  business  on  hand  would 
not  wait. 

While  Thursday  was  still  slipping  down  from 
one  outcropping  ledge  of  rock  to  another,  a  plunge 
of  the  wounded  horse  freed  the  regenade.  The  man 
scrambled  to  his  feet  and  ran  shakily  for  the  shelter 
of  a  boulder.  In  his  hurry  to  reach  cover  he  did  not 
stop  to  get  the  rifle  that  had  been  flung  a  few  yards 
from  him  when  he  fell. 

The  boy  caught  one  glimpse  of  that  evil,  fear- 
racked  face.  The  blood  flushed  his  veins  with  a 
surge  of  triumph.  He  was  filled  with  the  savage, 
primitive  exultation  of  the  head-hunter.  For  four 
years  he  had  slept  on  the  trail  of  this  man  and  had 
at  last  found  him.  The  scout  had  fought  the 
Apaches  impersonally,  without  rancor,  because  a 
call  had  come  to  him  that  he  could  not  ignore.  But 
now  the  lust  of  blood  was  on  him.  He  had  become 
that  cold,  implacable  thing  known  throughout  the 
West  as  a  "killer." 

The  merciless  caution  that  dictates  the  methods 
of  a  killer  animated  his  movements  now.  Across 
the  gulch,  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from 


42  A  Man  Four-Square 

him,  the  renegade  lay  crouched.  A  hunched  shoul- 
der was  just  visible. 

Thursday  edged  carefully  along  the  ledge.  He 
felt  for  holds  with  his  hand  and  feet,  for  not  once 
did  his  gaze  lift  from  that  patch  of  hickory  shirt. 
The  eyes  of  the  boy  had  narrowed  to  slits  of  deadly 
light.  He  was  wary  as  a  hungry  wolf  and  as  dan- 
gerous. That  the  girl  had  disappeared  around  the 
bend  he  did  not  know.  His  brain  functioned  for 
just  one  purpose  —  to  get  the  enemy  with  whom  he 
had  come  at  last  to  grips. 

As  the  boy  crept  along  the  rock  face  for  a  better 
view  of  his  victim,  the  minutes  fled.  Five  of  them 
—  ten  —  a  quarter  of  an  hour  passed.  The  rene- 
gade lay  motionless.  Perhaps  he  hoped  that  his 
location  was  unknown. 

The  man-hunter  on  the  ledge  flung  a  bullet 
against  the  protecting  boulder.  His  laugh  of  cruel 
derision  drifted  across  the  canon. 

"Run  to  earth  at  last,  Ranse  Roush ! "  he  shouted, 
"I  swore  I'd  camp  on  your  trail  till  I  got  you  — 
you  an'  the  rest  of  yore  poison  tribe." 

From  the  trapped  wretch  quavered  back  a 
protest. 

"  Goddlemighty ,  I  ain't  done  no  thin'  to  you-all. 
Lemme  explain." 

"Before  you  do  any  explainin'  mebbe  you'd  bet- 
ter guess  who  it  is  that's  goin'  to  send  yore  cow- 
ardly soul  to  hell  inside  of  five  minutes." 

"  If  you  're  some  kin  to  that  gal  on  the  hawss  with 
me,  why,  I'll  tell  you  the  honest-to-God  truth. 
I  was  aimin'  to  save  her  from  the  'Paches  when  I  got 


A  Man  Four-Square  43 

a  chanct.  Come  on  down  an'  let's  we-uns  talk  it 
over  reasonable." 

The  boy  laughed  again,  but  there  was  something 
very  far  from  mirth  in  the  sound  of  that  chill 
laughter.  "If  you  won't  guess  I'll  have  to  tell  you^ 
Ever  hear  of  the  Clantons,  Ranse  Roush?  I'm  one 
of  'em.  Now  you  know  what  chance  you  got  to 
talk  yoreself  out  of  this  thing." 

"I  —  I'm  glad  to  meet  up  with  you-all.  I  got  to 
admit  that  the  Roush  clan  is  dirt  mean.  Tha  's  why  I 
broke  away  from  'em.  Tha's  why  I  come  out  here. 
You  Clantons  is  all  right.  I  never  did  go  in  for  this 
bushwhackin'  with  Dave  an'  Hugh.    I  never  — " 

"You're  a  born  liar  like  the  rest  of  yore  wolf 
tribe.  You  come  out  here  because  the  country  got 
too  hot  to  hold  you  after  what  you  did  to  'Lindy 
Clanton.  I  might  'a'  knowed  I  'd  find  you  with  the 
'Paches.  You  alius  was  low-mixed  Injun."  The 
boy  had  fallen  into  the  hill  vernacular  to  which  he 
had  been  born.  He  was  once  more  a  tribal  feudist 
of  the  border  land. 

"I  swear  I  had  n't  a  thing  to  do  with  that,"  the 
man  cried  eagerly.  "You  shore  done  got  that 
wrong.  Dave  an'  Hugh  done  that.  They  're  a  bad 
lot.  When  I  found  out  about  'Lindy  Clanton  I 
quarreled  with  'em  an'  we-all  split  up  company. 
Tha's  the  way  of  it." 

"You're  ce'tainly  in  bad  luck  then,"  the  boy 
shouted  back  tauntingly.  "For  I  aim  to  stomp  you 
out  like  I  would  a  copperhead."  Very  distinctly 
he  added  his  explanation.  "I'm  'Lindy  Clanton's 
brother." 


44  A  Man  Four-Square 

Roush  begged  for  his  life.  He  groveled  in  the 
dust.  He  promised  to  reform,  to  leave  the  country, 
to  do  anything  that  was  asked  of  him. 

"Go  ahead.  It's  meat  an'  drink  to  me  to  hear  a 
Roush  whine.  I  got  all  day  to  this  job,  but  I  aim  to 
do  it  thorough,"  jeered  Clanton. 

A  bullet  flattened  itself  against  the  rock  wall  ten 
feet  below  the  boy.  In  despair  the  man  was  shoot- 
ing wildly  with  his  revolver.  He  knew  there  was 
no  use  in  pleading,  that  his  day  of  judgment  had 
come. 

Young  Clanton  laughed  in  mockery.  "Try  again, 
Roush.  You  ain't  quite  got  the  range." 

The  man  made  a  bolt  for  the  bend  in  the  canon  a 
hundred  yards  away.  Instantly  the  rifle  leaped  to 
the  shoulder  of  the  boy. 

"Right  in  front  of  you,  Roush,"  he  prophesied. 

The  bullet  kicked  up  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the 
running  man.  The  nerve  of  Roush  failed  him  and 
he  took  cover  again  behind  a  scrub  live-oak.  A 
memory  had  flashed  to  him  of  the  day  when  he  had 
seen  a  thirteen-year-old  boy  named  Jim  Clanton 
win  a  turkey  shoot  against  the  best  marksmen  of 
the  hill  country. 

The  army  Colt  spit  out  once  more  at  the  boy  on 
the  ledge.  Before  the  echo  had  died  away  the  boom 
of  an  explosion  filled  the  canon.  Roush  pitched  for- 
ward on  his  face. 

Jim  Clanton  lowered  his  rifle  with  an  exclama- 
tion. His  face  was  a  picture  of  amazement.  Some 
one  had  stolen  his  vengeance  from  him  by  a  hair's 
breadth. 


A  Man  Four-Square  45 

Two  men  came  round  the  bend  on  horseback. 
Behind  them  rode  a  girl.  She  was  mounted  on  the 
barebacked  pinto  of  the  Indian  Clanton  had  killed 
with  the  shotgun. 

The  boy  clambered  down  to  the  bed  of  the  gulch 
and  limped  toward  them.  The  color  had  ebbed 
from  his  lips.  At  every  step  a  pain  shot  through  his 
leg.  But  in  spite  of  his  growing  weakness  anger 
blazed  in  the  light-blue  eyes. 

"I  waited  four  years  to  git  him.  I  kept  the  trail 
hot  from  Tucson  to  Vegas  an'  back  to  Santone. 
An'  now,  doggone  it,  when  my  finger  was  on  the 
trigger  an'  the  coyote  as  good  as  dead,  you  cut  in 
an'  shoot  the  daylights  out  of  him.  By  gum,  it  ain't 
fair!" 

The  older  man  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 
"But  he  iss  only  a  child,  Polly!  Cela  me  passe!" 

"Mebbe  I  am  only  a  kid,"  the  boy  retorted  re- 
sentfully. "But  I  reckon  I'm  man  enough  to  han- 
dle any  Roush  that  ever  lived.  I  was  n't  askin'  for 
help  from  you-uns  that  I  heerd  tell  of." 

The  younger  man  laughed.  He  was  six  or  seven 
years  older  than  the  girl,  who  could  not  have  been 
more  than  seventeen.  Both  of  them  bore  a  marked 
likeness  to  the  middle-aged  man  who  had  spoken. 
Jim  guessed  that  this  was  the  Roubideau  family  of 
whom  Billie  Prince  had  told  him. 

"Just  out  of  the  cradle,  by  Christmas,  and  he's 
killed  four  'Paches  inside  of  an  hour  an'  treed  a 
renegade  to  boot,"  said  young  Roubideau.  "I'd 
call  it  a  day's  work,  kid,  for  it  sure  beats  all  records 
ever  I  knew  hung  up  by  one  man." 


46  A  Man  Four-Square 

The  admiration  of  the  young  rancher  was  patent. 
He  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  youthful 
phenomenon. 

"He's  wounded,  father,"  the  girl  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

The  boy  looked  at  her  and  his  anger  died  away. 
"Billie  sent  me  up  the  gulch  when  he  was  shot. 
He  'lowed  it  was  up  to  me  to  git  you  back  from 
those  devils,  seein'  as  he  could  n't  go  himself." 

Polly  nodded.  She  seemed  to  be  the  kind  of  girl 
that  understands  without  being  told  in  detail. 

Before  Thursday  could  protect  himself,  Rou- 
bideau,  senior,  had  seized  him  in  his  arms,  em- 
braced him,  and  kissed  first  one  cheek  and  then  the 
other.  "Eh  bien!  But  you  are  the  brave  boy!  I 
count  it  honor  to  know  you.  My  little  Polly,  have 
you  not  save  her?  Ah!  But  I  forget  the  introduce 
tions.  Myself,  I  am  Pierre  Roubideau,  a  tout  pro- 
pos  at  your  service.  My  son  Jean.  Pauline  — 
what  you  call  our  babie." 

"My  real  name  is  Jim  Clanton,"  answered  the 
boy.  "I've  been  passin'  by  that  of  'Thursday'  so 
that  none  of  the  Roush  outfit  would  know  I  was  in 
the  country  till  I  met  up  face  to  face  with  'em." 

"Clanton!  It  iss  a  name  we  shall  remember  in 
our  prayers,  n'est-ce  pas,  Polly?  "  Pierre  choked  up 
and  wrung  fervently  the  hand  of  the  youngster. 

Clanton  was  both  embarrassed  and  wary.  He 
did  not  know  at  what  moment  Roubideau  would 
disgrace  him  by  attempting  another  embrace. 
There  was  something  in  the  Frenchman's  eye  that 
told  of  an  emotion  not  yet  expended  fully. 


A  Man  Four-Square  47 

"Oh,  shucks;  you  make  a  heap  of  fuss  about 
nothin',"  he  grumbled.  "Did  n't  I  tell  you  it  was 
Billie  Prince  sent  me?  An'  say,  I  got  a  pill  in  my 
foot.  Kindness  of  one  of  them  dad-gummed  Mes- 
caleros.  I  hate  to  walk  on  that  laig.  I  wish  yore 
boy  would  go  up  on  the  bluff  an'  look  after  my 
horse.  I  'most  rode  it  to  death,  I  reckon,  comin' 
up  the  canon.  An'  there's  a  sawed-off  shotgun. 
He  '11  find  it..." 

For  a  few  moments  the  ground  had  been  going 
up  and  down  in  waves  before  the  eyes  of  the  boy. 
Now  he  clutched  at  a  stirrup  leather  for  support, 
but  his  fingers  could  not  seem  to  find  it.  Before  he 
could  steady  himself  the  bed  of  the  dry  creek  rose 
up  and  hit  him  in  the  head. 


Chapter  IV 

Pauline  Roubideau  Says  "Thank  You  " 

Jimmie  Clanton  slid  back  from  unconsciousness  to 
a  world  the  center  of  which  was  a  girl  sitting  on  a 
rock  with  his  rifle  across  her  knees.  The  picture  did 
not  at  first  associate  itself  with  any  previous  experi- 
ence. She  was  a  brown,  slim  young  thing  in  a  calico 
print  that  fitted  snugly  the  soft  lines  of  her  immature 
figure.  The  boy  watched  her  shyly  and  wondered  at 
the  quiet  self-reliance  of  her.  She  was  keeping  guard 
over  him,  and  there  was  about  her  a  cool  vigilance 
that  went  oddly  with  the  small,  piquant  face  and 
the  tumbled  mass  of  curly  chestnut  hair  that  had 
fallen  in  a  cascade  across  her  shoulders. 

"Where  are  yore  folks?"  he  asked  presently. 

She  turned  her  head  slowly  and  looked  at  him. 
Southern  suns  had  sprinkled  beneath  her  eyes  a 
myriad  of  powdered  freckles.  She  met  his  gaze 
fairly,  with  a  boyish  directness  and  candor. 

"Jean  has  ridden  out  to  tell  your  friends  about 
you  and  Mr.  Prince.  Father  has  gone  back  to  the 
house  to  fix  up  a  travois  to  carry  you." 

"Sho!  I  can  ride." 

"There's  no  need  of  it.  You  must  have  lost  a 
great  deal  of  blood." 

He  looked  down  at  his  foot  and  saw  that  the 
boot  had  been  cut  away.  A  bandage  of  calico  had 
been  tied  around  the  wound.  He  guessed  that  the 
girl  had  sacrificed  part  of  a  skirt. 


A  Man  Four-Square  49 

"And  you  stayed  here  to  see  the  Taches  did  n't 
play  with  me  whilst  yore  father  was  gone,"  he  told 
her. 

"There  was  n't  any  danger,  of  course.  The  only 
one  that  escaped  is  miles  away  from  here.  But  we 
did  n't  like  to  leave  you  alone." 

"That's  right  good  of  you." 

Her  soft,  brown  eyes  met  his  again.  They  poured 
upon  him  the  gift  of  passionate  gratitude  she  could 
not  put  into  words.  It  was  from  something  much 
more  horrible  than  death  that  he  had  snatched  her. 
One  moment  she  had  been  a  creature  crushed, 
leaden  despair  in  her  heart.  Then  the  miracle  had 
flashed  down  from  the  sky.  She  was  free,  astride 
the  pinto,  galloping  for  home. 

"Yes,  you  owe  us  much."  There  was  a  note  of 
light  sarcasm  in  her  clear,  young  voice,  but  the 
feeling  in  her  heart  swept  it  away  in  an  emotional 
rush  of  words  from  the  tongue  of  her  father.  "  Vous 
avez  pris  le  fait  et  cause  pour  moi.  Sans  vous 
j'etais  perdu." 

"You're  French,"  he  said. 

"My  father  is,  not  my  mother.  She  was  from 
Tennessee." 

"I'm  from  the  South,  too." 

"You  did  n't  need  to  tell  me  that,"  she  answered 
with  a  little  smile. 

"Oh,  I'm  a  Westerner  now,  but  you  ought  to 
have  heerd  me  talk  when  I  first  came  out."  He 
broached  a  grievance.  "Say,  will  you  tell  yore  dad 
not  to  do  that  again?  I'm  no  kid." 

"Do  what?" 


50  A  Man  Four-Square 

"You  know."  The  red  flamed  into  his  face.  "If 
it  got  out  among  the  boys  what  he'd  done,  I'd 
never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

"You  mean  kissed  you?" 

"Sure  I  do.  That  ain't  no  way  to  treat  a  fellow. 
I  'm  past  eighteen  if  I  am  small  for  my  age.  Nobody 
can  pull  the  pat-you-on-the-head-sonny  stuff  on 
me. 

"But  you  don't  understand.  That  is  n't  it  at  all. 
My  father  is  French.  That  makes  all  the  difference. 
When  he  kissed  you  it  meant  —  oh,  that  he  hon- 
ored and  esteemed  you  because  you  fought  for  me." 

"I  been  tellin'  you  right  along  that  Billie  Prince 
is  to  blame.  Let  him  go  an'  kiss  Billie  an'  see  if 
he'll  stand  for  it." 

A  flash  of  roguishness  brought  out  an  unexpected 
dimple  near  the  corner  of  her  insubordinate  mouth. 
"We'll  be  good,  all  of  us,  and  never  do  it  again. 
Cross  our  hearts." 

Young  Clanton  reddened  beneath  the  tan.  With- 
out looking  at  her  he  felt  the  look  she  tilted  side- 
ways at  him  from  under  the  long,  curved  lashes. 
Of  course  she  was  laughing  at  him.  He  knew  that 
much,  even  though  he  lacked  the  experience  to 
meet  her  in  kind.  Oddly  enough,  there  pricked 
through  his  embarrassment  a  delicious  little  tingle 
of  delight.  So  long  as  she  took  him  in  as  a  partner 
of  her  gayety  she  might  make  as  much  fun  of  him 
as  she  pleased. 

But  the  owlish  dignity  of  his  age  would  not  let 
him  drop  the  subject  without  further  explanation. 
"It's  all  right  for  yore  dad  to  much  you.   I  reckon 


A  Man  Four-Square  81 

a  girl  kinder  runs  to  kisses  an'  such  doggoned  fool- 
ishness. But  a  man's  different.  He  don't  go  in  for 
it." 

"Oh,  doesn't  he?"  asked  Polly  demurely.  She 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  mention  that  every 
unmarried  man  who  came  to  the  ranch  wanted  to 
make  love  to  her  before  he  left.  "I'm  glad  you 
told  me,  because  I  'm  only  a  girl  and  I  don't  know 
much  about  it.  And  since  you're  a  man,  of  course 
you  know." 

"That's  the  way  it  is,"  he  assured  her,  solemn 
as  a  pouter. 

She  bit  her  lip  to  keep  from  laughing  out,  but  on 
the  heels  of  her  mirth  came  a  swift  reproach.  In 
his  knowledge  of  life  he  might  be  a  boy,  but  in  one 
way  at  least  he  had  proved  himself  a  man.  He  had 
taken  his  life  in  his  hands  and  ridden  to  save  her 
without  a  second  thought.  He  had  fought  a  good 
fight,  one  that  would  be  a  story  worth  telling  when 
she  had  become  an  old  woman  with  grandchildren 
at  her  knee. 

"Does  your  foot  hurt  you  much?"  she  asked 
gently. 

"It  sort  o'  keeps  my  memory  jogged  up.  It's  a 
kind  of  forget-me-not  souvenir,  for  a  good  boy, 
compliments  of  a  Mescalero  buck,  name  unknown, 
probably  now  permanently  retired  from  his  busi- 
ness of  raisin'  Cain.  But  it  might  be  a  heap  worse. 
They  would  've  been  glad  to  collect  our  scalps  if  it 
had  n't  been  onconvenient,  I  expect." 

"Yes,"  she  agreed  gravely. 

He  sat  up  abruptly.  "Say,  what  about  Billie?  I 


52  A  Man  Four-Square 

left  him  wounded  outside.  Did  yore  folks  find 
him?" 

"Yes.  It  seems  the  Apaches  trapped  them  in  the 
stable.  They  roped  horses  and  came  straight  for 
the  caiion.  They  found  Mr.  Prince,  but  they  had 
no  time  to  stop  then.  Father  is  looking  after  him 
now.  He  raid  he  was  going  to  take  him  to  the  house 
in  the  buekboard." 

"Is  he  badly  hurt?" 

"Jean  thinks  he  will  be  all  right.  Mr.  Prince 
told  him  it  was  only  a  flesh  wound,  but  the  muscles 
were  so  paralyzed  he  could  n't  get  around." 

"The  bullet  did  not  strike  an  artery,  then?  M 

"My  brother  seemed  to  think  not." 

"I  reckon  there's  no  doctor  near." 

Her  eyes  twinkled.  "  Not  very  near.  Our  nearest 
neighbor  lives  on  the  Pecos  one  hundred  and  seven- 
teen miles  away.  But  my  father  is  as  good  as  a 
doctor  any  day  of  the  week." 

"Likely  you  don't  borrow  coffee  next  door  when 
you  run  out  of  it  onexpected.  But  don't  you  get 
lonesome?" 

"Have  n't  time,"  she  told  him  cheerfully.  "Be- 
sides, somebody  going  through  stops  off  every 
*hree  or  four  months.  Then  we  learn  all  the  news." 

Jimmie  glanced  at  her  shyly  and  looked  quickly 
Away.  This  girl  was  not  like  any  woman  he  had 
known.  Most  of  them  were  drab  creatures  with  the 
spirit  washed  out  of  them.  His  sister  had  been  an 
exception.  She  had  had  plenty  of  vitality,  good 
looks  and  pride,  but  the  somber  shadow  of  her 
environment  had  not  made  for  gayety.    It  was 


A  Man  Four-Square  5S 

different  with  Pauline  Roubideau.  Though  she 
had  just  escaped  from  terrible  danger,  laughter 
bubbled  up  in  her  soft  throat,  mirth  rippled  over 
her  mobile  little  face.  She  expressed  herself  with 
swift,  impulsive  gestures  at  times.  Then  again 
she  suggested  an  inheritance  of  slow  grace  from  the 
Southland  of  her  mother. 

He  did  not  understand  the  contradictions  of  her 
and  they  worried  him  a  little.  Billie  had  told  him 
that  she  could  rope  and  shoot  as  well  as  any  man. 
He  had  seen  for  himself  that  she  was  an  expert 
rider.  Her  nerves  were  good  enough  to  sit  beside 
him  at  quiet  ease  within  a  stone's  throw  of  three 
sprawling  bodies  from  which  she  had  seen  the  lusty 
life  driven  scarce  a  half-hour  since.  Already  he 
divined  the  boyish  camaraderie  that  was  so  simple 
and  direct  an  expression  of  good-will.  And  yet  there 
was  something  about  her  queer  little  smile  he  could 
not  make  out.  It  hinted  that  she  was  really  old 
enough  to  be  his  mother,  that  she  was  heiress  of  wis- 
dom handed  down  by  her  sex  through  all  the  gen- 
erations. As  yet  he  had  not  found  out  that  he  was 
only  a  boy  and  she  was  a  woman. 


Chapter  V 

No  Four-Flusher 

Pauline  Roubideau  knew  the  frontier  code.  She 
evinced  no  curiosity  about  the  past  of  this  boy-man 
who  had  come  into  her  life  at  the  nick  of  time.  None 
the  less  she  was  eager  to  know  what  connection  lay 
between  him  and  the  renegade  her  brother  had 
killed.  She  had  heard  Jim  Clanton  say  that  he  had 
waited  four  years  for  his  revenge  and  had  followed 
the  man  all  over  the  West.  Why?  WThat  motive 
could  be  powerful  enough  with  a  boy  of  fourteen  to 
sway  so  completely  his  whole  life  toward  vengeance? 

She  set  herself  to  find  out  without  asking.  Inside 
of  ten  minutes  the  secret  which  had  been  locked  so 
long  in  his  warped  soul  had  been  confided  to  her. 
The  boy  broke  down  when  he  told  her  the  story  of 
his  sister's  death.  He  was  greatly  ashamed  of  him- 
self for  his  emotion,  but  the  touch  of  her  warm 
sympathy  melted  the  ice  in  his  heart  and  set  him 
sobbing. 

Quickly  she  came  across  to  him  and  knelt  down 
by  his  side. 

"You  poor  boy!  You  poor,  poor  boy!"  she  mur- 
mured. 

Her  arm  crept  round  his  shoulders  with  the  in- 
finitely tender  caress  of  the  mother  that  lies,  do*- 
mant  or  awake,  in  all  good  women. 

"I  —  I  —  I'm  nothing  but  a  baby,"  he  gulped* 
trying  desperately  to  master  his  sobs. 


A  Man  Four-Square  55 

"Don't  talk  foolishness,"  she  scolded  to  comfort 
him.  "  I  would  n't  think  much  of  you  if  you  did  n't 
love  your  sister  enough  to  cry  for  her." 

There  were  tears  in  her  own  eyes.  Her  lively 
young  imagination  pictured  vividly  the  desolation 
of  the  young  hill  girl  betrayed  so  cruelly,  the  swift 
decline  of  her  stern,  broken-hearted  father.  The 
thought  of  the  half-grown  boy  following  the  be- 
trayers of  his  sister  across  the  continent,  his  life 
dedicated  for  years  to  vengeance,  was  a  dreadful 
thing  to  contemplate.  It  shocked  her  sense  of  all 
that  was  fitting.  No  doubt  his  mission  had  become 
a  religion  with  him.  He  had  lain  down  at  night 
with  that  single  purpose  before  him.  He  had  risen 
with  it  in  the  morning.  It  had  been  his  companion 
throughout  the  day.  From  one  season  to  another 
he  had  cherished  it  when  he  should  have  been  filled 
with  the  happy,  healthy  play  impulses  natural  to 
his  age. 

The  boy  told  the  story  of  that  man-hunt  without 
a  suspicion  that  there  was  anything  in  it  to  outrage 
the  feelings  of  the  girl. 

44  If  it  had  n't  been  for  old  Nance  Cunningham, 
I  reckon  Devil  Dave  an'  his  brothers  would  have 
fixed  up  some  cock  an'  bull  story  about  how  'Lindy 
was  drowned  by  accident.  But  folks  heard  Nance 
an'  then  would  n't  believe  a  word  they  said.  Dad 
swore  us  Clantons  to  wipe  out  the  whole  clan  of 
'em.  Every  last  man  in  the  hills  that  was  decent  got 
to  cussin'  the  Roush  outfit.  Their  own  friends  turned 
their  backs  on  all  three.  Then  the  sheriff  come  up 
from  the  settlemint  an'  they  jest  naturally  lit  out. 


56  A  Man  Four-Square 

"I  heerd  tell  they  were  in  Arizona  an'  after  dad 
died  I  took  after  'em.  But  seemed  like  I  had  no 
luck.  When  I  struck  their  trail  they  had  always 
just  gone.  To-day  I  got  Ranse  —  leastways  I 
would  'a'  got  him  if  yore  brother  had  n't  interfered. 
I'll  meet  up  with  the  others  one  o'  these  times.  I'll 
git  'em  too." 

He  spoke  with  quiet  conviction,  as  if  it  were  a 
business  matter  that  had  to  be  looked  after. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  this:  'Vengeance  is  mine;  I 
Will  repay,  saith  the  Lord'?" 

He  nodded.  "Dad  used  to  read  that  to  me. 
There 's  a  heap  in  the  Bible  about  killin'  yore  ene- 
mies. Dad  said  that  vengeance  verse  meant  that 
we-all  was  the  Lord's  deputies,  like  a  sheriff  has 
folks  to  help  him,  an'  we  was  certainly  to  repay 
the  Roushes  an'  not  to  forgit  interest  neither." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  vigorously.  "I  don't 
think  that's  what  it  means  at  all.  If  you'll  read 
the  verses  above  and  below,  you  '11  see  it  does  n't. 
We're  to  feed  our  enemies  when  they  are  hungry. 
We're  to  do  them  good  for  evil." 

"That's  all  right  for  common,  every-day  ene- 
mies, but  the  Roush  clan  ain't  that  kind,"  explained 
the  boy  stubbornly.  "It  shore  is  laid  on  me  to 
destroy  'em  root  an'  branch,  like  the  Bible  says." 

By  the  way  he  wagged  his  head  he  might  have 
been  a  wise  little  old  man.  The  savage  philosophy 
of  the  boy  had  been  drawn  in  with  his  mother's 
milk.  It  had  been  talked  by  his  elders  while  as  a 
child  he  drowsed  before  the  big  fireplace  on  winter 
nights.   After  his  sister's  tragic  death  it  had  been 


A  Man  Four-Square  57 

driven  home  by  Bible  texts  and  by  a  solemn  oath 
of  vengeance.  Was  it  likely  that  anything  she  could 
say  would  have  weight  with  him?  For  the  present 
the  girl  gave  up  her  resolve  to  convert  him  to  a  more 
Christian  point  of  view. 

The  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  canon  wall  when 
Pierre  Roubideau  arrived  with  a  travois  which  he 
had  hastily  built.  There  was  no  wagon-road  up  the 
gulch  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  get  the 
buckboard  in  as  far  as  the  fork  over  the  broken 
terrain.  As  a  voyageur  of  the  North  he  had  often 
seen  wounded  men  carried  by  the  Indians  in  travois 
across  the  plains.  He  knew,  too,  that  the  tribes  of 
the  Southwest  use  them.  This  one  was  constructed 
of  two  sixteen-foot  poles  with  a  canvas  lashed  from 
one  bar  to  the  other.  The  horse  was  harnessed  be- 
tween the  ends  of  the  shafts,  the  other  ends  drag- 
ging on  the  ground. 

Clanton  looked  at  this  device  distastefully.  "I'm 
no  squaw.  Whyfor  can't  I  climb  on  its  back  an' 
ride?" 

"Because  you  are  seeck.  It  iss  of  the  importance 
that  you  do  not  exert  yourself.  Voyons !  You  will 
be  comfortable  here.  N'est-ce  pas,  Polly?"  Pierre 
gesticulated  as  he  explained  volubly.  He  even  illus- 
trated the  comfort  by  lying  down  in  the  travois 
himself  and  giving  a  dramatic  representation  of 
sleep. 

The  young  man  grumbled,  but  gave  way  reluct- 
antly. 

"How's  Billie  Prince?"  he  asked  presently  from 
the  cot  where  he  lay. 


58  A  Man  Four-Square 

"He  will  hafe  a  fever,  but  soon  he  will  be  well 
again.  I,  Pierre,  promise  it.  For  he  iss  of  a  good 
strength  and  sound  as  a  dollar." 

Pauline,  rifle  in  hand,  scouted  ahead  of  the  tra- 
vois  and  picked  the  smoothest  way  down  the  rough 
ravine.  The  horse  that  Roubideau  drove  was  an 
old  and  patient  one.  Its  master  held  it  to  a  slow, 
even  pace,  so  that  the  wounded  boy  was  jolted  as 
little  as  possible.  When  they  had  reached  the  en- 
trance to  the  gorge,  travel  across  the  valley  became 
less  bumpy. 

The  young  girl  walked  as  if  she  loved  it.  The  fine, 
free  swing  of  the  hill  woman  was  in  her  step.  She 
breasted  the  slope  wTith  the  light  grace  of  a  forest 
faun.  Presently  she  dropped  back  to  a  place  beside 
the  conveyance  and  smiled  encouragement  at  him. 

"Pretty  bad,  is  it?" 

He  grinned  back.  "It's  up  to  me  to  play  the 
hand  I've  been  dealt." 

That  he  was  in  a  good  deal  of  pain  was  easy  tc 
guess. 

"We're  past  the  worst  of  it,"  Pauline  told  him» 
"Up  this  hill  — down  the  other  side  —  and  then 
we're  home." 

The  bawling  of  thirsty  cattle  and  the  Matting  of 
calves  could  be  heard  now. 

"It  iss  that  Monsieur  Webb  has  taken  my  advice 
to  drive  the  herd  up  the  cafion  and  into  the  park 
for  the  night,"  explained  Roubideau.  "There  iss 
one  way  in,  one  way  out.  Guard  the  entrances  and 
the  'Paches  cannot  stampede  the  cattle.  Voila!" 

From  the  hill-top  the  leaders  of  the  herd  could 


A  Man  Four-Square  59 

be  seen  drinking  at  the  creek.  Cattle  behind  were 
pushing  forward  to  get  at  the  water,  while  the  riders 
on  the  point  and  at  the  swing  were  directing  the 
movement  of  the  beeves,  now  checking  the  steady 
pressure  from  the  rear  and  now  hastening  the  pace 
of  those  dawdling  in  the  stream.  To  add  to  the 
confusion  cows  were  mooing  loudly  for  their  off- 
spring not  yet  unloaded  from  the  calf  wagon. 

Near  the  summit  Jean  with  the  buckboard  met 
the  party  from  the  canon.  He  helped  Clanton  to 
the  seat  and  drove  to  the  house. 

Webb  cantered  up.  "What's  this  I  hear  about 
you,  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em?  They  tell  me  you've 
made  four  good  Injuns  to-day,  shot  up  a  renegade, 
rescued  this  young  lady  here,  'most  rode  one  of  my 
horses  to  death,  an'  got  stove  up  in  the  foot  yore 
own  self.  It  certainly  must  have  been  yore  busy 
afternoon." 

The  drover  looked  at  him  with  a  new  respect. 
He  had  found  the  answer  to  the  question  he  had 
put  himself  a  few  hours  earlier.  This  boy  was  no 
four-flusher.  He  not  only  knew  how  and  when  to 
shoot,  was  game  as  a  bulldog,  and  keen  as  a  weasel; 
he  possessed,  too,  that  sixth  sense  so  necessary  to 
a  gun-fighter,  the  instinct  which  shows  him  how  to 
take  advantage  of  every  factor  in  the  situation  so 
as  to  come  through  safely. 

"I  did  n't  do  it  all,"  answered  Clanton,  flushing. 
"Billie  helped,  and  the  Roubideaus  got  two  of 
'em." 

"That 's  not  the  way  Billie  tells  it.  Anyhow,  you- 
all  made  a  great  gather  between  you.  Six  'Paches 


£0  A  Man  Four-Square 

that  will  never  smile  again  ought  to  give  the  raiders 
a  pain." 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  get  him  to  bed?" 
said  Pauline  gently. 

"You're  shoutin',  ma'am,"  agreed  Webb. 
"Roubideau,  the  little  boss  says  Jimmie-Go-Get- 
'Em  is  to  be  put  to  bed.  I'll  tote  him  in  if  you'll 
give  my  boys  directions  about  throwin'  the  herd 
into  yore  park  and  loose-herdin'  'em  there." 

The  Missourian  picked  up  the  wounded  boy  and 
followed  Pauline  into  the  house.  She  led  the  way 
to  her  own  little  bedroom.  It  was  the  most  com- 
fortable in  the  house  and  that  was  the  one  she 
wanted  Jim  Clanton  to  have. 


Chapter  VI 

Billie  Asks  a  Question 

Roubideau  rounded  up  next  day  his  beef  stock  and 
sold  two  hundred  head  to  the  drover.  During  the 
second  day  the  riders  were  busy  putting  the  road 
brand  on  the  cattle  just  bought. 

"Don't  bust  yore  suspenders  on  this  job,  boys/' 
Webb  told  his  men.  "I'd  just  as  lief  lie  up  here  for 
a  few  days  while  Uncle  Sam  is  roundin'  up  his  pets 
camped  out  there.  Old  man  Roubideau  says  we  're 
welcome  to  stick  around.  The  feed's  good.  Our 
cattle  are  some  gaunted  with  the  drive.  It  won't 
hurt  a  mite  to  let  'em  stay  right  here  a  spell." 

But  on  the  third  day  came  news  that  induced 
the  Missourian  to  change  his  mind.  Jean,  who  had 
been  out  as  a  scout,  returned  with  the  information 
that  a  company  of  cavalry  had  come  down  from 
the  fort  and  that  the  Apaches  had  hastily  decamped 
for  parts  unknown. 

"I  reckon  we'll  throw  into  the  trail  again  to- 
morrow, Joe,"  the  drover  told  Yankie.  "No  use 
wastin'  time  here  if  we  don't  have  to  stay.  We'll 
mosey  along  toward  the  river.  Kinder  take  it  easy 
an'  drift  the  herd  down  slow  so  as  to  let  the  cattle 
put  on  flesh.  Billie  an'  the  kid  can  join  us  soon  as 
they're  fit  to  travel." 

The  decision  was  announced  on  the  porch  of  the 
Roubideau  house.  Its  owner  and  his  daughter  were 


62  A  Man  Four-Square 

present.  So  was  Dad  Wrayburn.  The  Texan  old- 
timer  snorted  as  he  rolled  a  cigarette. 

"Hm!  Soft  thing  those  two  boys  have  got  sittin' 
around  an'  bein'  petted  by  Miss  Polly  here.  I've 
a  notion  to  go  an'  bust  my  laig  too.  Will  you  nurse 
me  real  tender,  ma'am,  if  I  get  stove  up  pullin'  off  a 
grand-stand  play  like  they  done?" 

"The  hospital  is  full.  We  haven  't  got  room  for 
more  invalids,  Mr.  Wrayburn,"  laughed  the  girl. 

"Well,  you  let  me  know  when  there's  a  vacancy, 
Miss  Polly.  My  sister  gave  me  a  book  to  read  onct. 
It  was  'most  twenty  years  ago.  The  name  of  it  was 
'Ivanhoe.'  I  told  her  I  would  save  it  to  read  when 
I  broke  my  laig.  Looks  like  I  never  will  git  that 
book  read." 

By  daybreak  the  outfit  was  on  the  move.  Yankie 
trailed  the  cattle  out  to  the  plain  and  started  them 
forward  leisurely.  Webb  had  allowed  himself 
plenty  of  time  for  the  drive.  The  date  set  for  deliv- 
ery at  the  fort  was  still  distant  and  he  wanted  the 
beeves  to  be  in  first-class  condition  for  inspection. 
To  reach  the  Pecos  he  was  allowing  three  weeks,  a 
programme  that  would  let  him  bed  the  herd  down 
emrly  and  would  permit  of  drifting  it  slowly  to 
graze  for  an  hour  or  two  a  day. 

The  weeks  that  followed  were  red-letter  ones  in 
the  life  of  Jim  Clanton.  They  gave  him  his  first 
glimpse  of  a  family  life  which  had  for  its  basis  not 
only  affection,  but  trust  and  understanding.  He 
had  never  before  seen  a  household  that  really  en- 
joyed little  jokes  shared  in  common,  whose  mem- 
bers were  full  of  kind  consideration  the  one  for  the 


A  Man  Four-Square  63 

other.  The  Roubideaus  had  more  than  a  touch  of 
the  French  temperament.  They  took  life  gayly  and 
whimsically,  and  though  they  poked  all  kinds  of 
fun  at  each  other  there  was  never  any  sting  to  their 
wit. 

Pauline  was  a  famous  little  nurse.  It  was  not 
long  before  she  was  offering  herself  as  a  crutch  to 
help  young  Clanton  limp  to  the  sunny  porch.  Two 
or  three  days  later  Billie  joined  his  fellow  invalid. 
From  where  they  sat  the  two  young  men  could  hear 
the  girl  as  she  went  about  her  work  singing.  Often 
she  came  out  with  a  plate  of  hot,  new-baked  cookies 
for  them  and  a  pitcher  of  milk.  Or  she  would  dance 
out  without  any  excuse  except  that  of  her  own  f rank 
interest  in  the  youth  she  shared  with  her  patients. 

One  of  the  Roubideau  jokes  was  that  Polly  was 
the  mother  of  the  family  and  her  father  and  Jean 
two  mischievous  little  boys  she  had  to  scold  and 
pet  alternately.  Temporarily  she  took  the  two 
cowpunchers  into  her  circle  and  browbeat  them 
shamefully  with  an  impudent  little  twinkle  in  her 
eyes.  Whatever  the  state  of  Billie's  mind  may 
have  been  before,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  now 
he  was  fathoms  deep  in  love.  With  hungry  ey^s  he 
took  in  her  laughter  and  raillery,  her  boyish  high 
spirits,  the  sweet  tenderness  of  the  girl  for  her 
father.  He  loved  her  wholly  —  the  charm  of  her 
comradeship,  of  her  swift,  generous  impulses,  of 
that  touch  of  coquetry  she  could  not  entirely  sub- 
due. 

Pierre  had  been  a  chasseur  in  the  Franco-Prussian 
War.   His  daughter  was  very  proud  of  it,  but  one 


64  A  Man  Four-Square 

of  her  games  was  to  mock  him  fondly  by  swagger- 
ing back  and  forth  while  she  sang: 

"Allons,  enfants  de  la  patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive." 

When  she  came  to  the  chorus,  nothing  would  do 
but  all  of  them  must  join.  She  taught  the  words 
and  tune  to  Prince  and  Jimmie  so  that  they  could 
fall  into  line  behind  the  old  soldier  and  his  son: 

"Aux  armes,  citoyens!  formez  vos  bataillons! 
Marchons !  Marchons! 
Qu'un  sang  impur  abreuve  nos  sillons." 

It  always  began  in  pretended  derision,  but  as  she 
swept  her  little  company  down  the  porch  all  the 
gallant,  imperishable  soul  of  France  spoke  in  her 
ringing  voice  and  the  flash  of  her  brown  eyes. 
Surely  her  patriotism  was  no  less  sound  because 
the  blood  of  Alsace  and  that  of  Tennessee  were 
fused  in  her  ardent  veins. 

The  wounds  of  the  young  men  healed  rapidly, 
and  both  of  them  foresaw  that  the  day  of  their 
departure  could  no  longer  be  postponed.  Neither 
of  them  was  yet  in  condition  to  walk  very  far,  but 
on  horseback  they  were  fit  to  travel  carefully. 

"  We  got  all  the  time  there  is.  No  need  of  pushin* 
on  the  reins,  but  I  reckon  the  old  man  is  n't  payin* 
us  fifty  dollars  a  month  to  hold  down  the  Roubideau 
porch,"  said  Prince  regretfully. 

"No,  we  gotta  light  a  shuck,"  admitted  Jim, 
with  no  noticeable  alacrity.  He  was  in  no  hurry  to 
leave  himself,  even  if  he  did  not  happen  to  be  in 
love. 


A  Man  Four-Square  65 

Biliie  put  his  fortune  to  the  touch  while  he  was 
out  with  Polly  rounding  up  some  calves.  They  were 
riding  knee  to  knee  in  the  dust  of  the  drag  through 
a  small  arroyo. 

The  cowpuncher  swallowed  once  or  twice  in  a 
dry  throat  and  blurted  out,  "I  got  something  to 
tell  you  before  I  go,  Polly." 

The  girl  flashed  a  look  at  him.  She  recognized 
the  symptoms.  Her  gaze  went  back  to  the  wave- 
like motion  of  the  backs  of  the  moving  yearlings. 

"Don't,  Biliie,"  she  said  gently. 

Before  he  spoke  again  he  thought  over  her  advice. 
He  knew  he  had  his  answer.  But  he  had  to  go 
through  with  it  now. 

"I  reckoned  it  would  be  that  way.  I'm  nothin* 
but  a  rough  vaquero.  Whyfor  should  you  like  me?  " 

"Oh,  but  I  do!"  she  cried  impulsively.  "I  like 
you  a  great  deal.  You're  one  of  the  best  men  I 
know  —  brave  and  good  and  modest.  It  is  n't  that,. 
Biliie." 

"Is  there  —  some  one  else?  Or  oughtn't  I  to 
ask  that?" 

"No,  there's  nobody  else.  I'm  awfully  glad  you 
like  me.  The  girl  that  gets  you  will  be  lucky;  But 
I  don't  care  about  men  that  way.  I  want  to  stay 
with  dad  and  Jean." 

"Mebbe  some  day  you  may  feel  different  about 
it." 

"Mebbe  I  will,"  she  agreed.  "Anyhow,  I  want 
you  to  stay  friends  with  me.  You  will,  won't  you?  " 

"Sure.  I'll  be  there  just  as  long  as  you  want  me 
for  a  friend,"  he  said  simply. 


66  A  Man  Four-Square 

She  gave  him  her  little  gauntleted  hand.  They 
were  close  to  a  bend  in  the  draw.  Soon  they  would 
be  within  sight  of  the  house. 

"I'd  say  'Yes'  if  I  could,  Billie.  I'd  rather  it 
would  be  you  than  anybody  else.  You  won't  feel 
bad,  will  you?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right."  He  smiled,  and  there  was 
something  about  the  pluck  of  the  eyes  in  the  lean, 
tanned  face  that  touched  her.  "I'm  goin'  to  keep 
right  on  carin'  for  my  little  pal  even  if  I  can't  get 
what  I  want." 

She  had  not  yet  fully  emerged  from  her  child- 
hood. There  was  in  her  a  strong  desire  to  comfort 
him  somehow,  to  show  by  a  mark  of  special  favor 
how  high  she  held  him  in  her  esteem. 

"Would  you  —  would  you  like  to  kiss  me?"  she 
asked  simply. 

He  felt  a  clamor  of  the  blood  and  subdued  it 
before  he  answered.  It  was  in  accord  with  the  charm 
she  held  for  him  that  her  frank  generosity  enhanced 
his  respect  for  her.  If  she  gave  a  royal  gift  it  was 
out  of  the  truth  of  her  heart. 

Without  need  of  words  she  read  acceptance  in 
his  eyes  and  leaned  toward  him  in  the  saddle.  Their 
lips  met. 

"You're  the  first  —  except  dad  and  Jean,"  she 
told  him. 

The  feeling  in  his  primitive  heart  he  could  not 
have  analyzed.  He  did  not  know  that  his  soul  was 
moved  to  some  such  consecration  as  that  of  a  young 
knight  taking  his  vow  of  service,  though  he  was 
aware  that  all  the  good  in  him  leaped  to  instant 


A  Man  Four-Square  67 

response  in  her  presence,  that  by  some  strange 
spiritual  alchemy  he  had  passed  through  a  refining 
process. 

"I'm  comin'  back  to  see  you  some  day.  Mebbe 
you'll  feel  different  then,"  he  said. 

"I  might,"  she  admitted. 

They  rounded  the  bend.  Clanton,  on  horseback, 
caught  sight  of  them.  He  waved  his  hat  and  can- 
tered forward. 

"Say,  Billie,  how  much  bacon  do  you  reckon  we 
need  to  take  with  us?" 

In  front  of  the  house  Pauline  slipped  from  her 
horse  and  left  them  discussing  the  commissary. 


Chapter  VII 

On  the  Trail 

The  convalescents  rode  away  into  a  desert  green 
with  spring.  The  fragrant  chaparral  thickets  were 
bursting  into  flower.  Spanish  bayonets  studded 
the  plains.  Everywhere  about  them  was  the  prom- 
ise of  a  new  life  not  yet  burnt  by  hot  summer  suns 
to  a  crisp. 

During  the  day  they  ran  into  a  swamp  country 
and  crossed  a  bayou  where  cypress  knees  and  blue 
gums  showed  fantastic  in  the  eerie  gloom  of  the 
stagnant  water.  From  this  they  emerged  to  a  more 
wooded  region  and  made  an  early  camp  on  the 
edge  of  a  grove  of  ash  trees  bordering  a  small 
stream  where  pecans  grew  thick. 

Shortly  after  daybreak  they  were  jogging  on  at 
a  walk-trot,  the  road  gait  of  the  Southwest,  into 
the  treeless  country  of  the  prairie.  They  nooned 
at  an  arroyo  seco,  and  after  they  had  eaten  took  a 
siesta  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  Night  brought 
with  it  a  thunderstorm  and  they  took  refuge  in  a 
Mexican  hut  built  of  palisades  and  roofed  with 
grass  sod.  A  widow  lived  alone  in  the  jacal,  but 
she  made  them  welcome  to  the  best  she  had. 
The  young  men  slept  in  a  corner  of  the  hut  on 
a  dry  cowskin  spread  upon  the  mud  floor,  their 
saddles  for  pillows  and  their  blankets  rolled  about 
them. 

While  she  was  cooking  their  breakfast,  Piince 


A  Man  Four-Square  69 

noticed  the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  She  was 
a  comely  young  woman  and  he  asked  her  gallantly 
in  the  bronco  Spanish  of  the  border  if  there  was 
anything  he  could  do  to  relieve  her  distress. 

She  shook  her  head  mournfully.  "No,  senor," 
she  answered  in  her  native  tongue.  "Only  time  can 
do  that.  I  mourn  my  husband.  He  was  a  drunken 
ne'er-do-well,  but  he  was  my  man.  So  I  mourn  a 
fitting  period.  He  died  in  that  corner  of  the  room 
where  you  slept." 

"Indeed!  When?"  asked  Billie  politely. 

"Ten  days  ago.  Of  smallpox." 

The  young  men  never  ate  that  breakfast.  They 
fled  into  the  sunlight  and  put  many  hurried  miles 
between  them  and  their  amazed  hostess.  At  the 
first  stream  they  stripped,  bathed,  washed  their 
clothes,  dipped  the  saddles,  and  lay  nude  in  the 
warm  sand  until  their  wearing  apparel  was  dry. 

For  many  days  they  joked  each  other  about  that 
headlong  flight,  but  underneath  their  gayety  was  a 
dread  which  persisted. 

"I'm  like  Dona  Isabel  with  her  grief.  Only  time 
can  heal  me  of  that  scare  she  threw  into  Billie 
Prince,"  the  owner  of  that  name  confessed. 

"Me  too,"  assented  Clanton,  helping  himself  to 
pinole.  "I'll  bet  I  lost  a  year's  growth,  and  me 
small  at  that." 

Prince  had  been  in  the  employ  of  Webb  for  three 
years.  During  the  long  hours  when  they  rode  side 
by  side  he  told  his  companion  much  about  the  Fly- 
ing V  Y  outfit  and  its  owner. 

"He's  a  straight-up  man,  Homer  Webb  is.   His 


70  A  Man  Four-Square 

word  is  good  all  over  Texas.  He  '11  sure  do  to  take 
along,"  said  Billie  by  way  of  recommendation. 

"And  Joe  Yankie  —  does  he  stack  up  A  1  too?" 
asked  the  boy  dryly. 

"I  never  liked  Joe.  It  ain't  only  that  he'll  run 
a  sandy  on  you  if  he  can  or  that  he 's  always  ridin' 
any  one  that  will  stand  to  be  picked  on.  Joe 's  sure 
a  bully.  But  then  he's  game  enough,  too,  for  that 
matter.  I've  seen  him  fight  like  a  pack  of  cata- 
mounts. Outside  of  that  I  've  got  a  hunch  that  he 's 
crooked  as  a  dog's  hind  leg.  Mebbe  I'm  wrong. 
I  'm  tellin'  you  how  he  strikes  me.  If  I  was  Homer 
Webb,  right  now  when  trouble  is  comin'  up  with  the 
Snaith-McRobert  outfit,  I  'd  feel  some  dubious  about 
Joe.  He 's  a  sulky,  revengeful  brute,  an'  the  old  man 
has  pulled  him  up  with  a  tight  rein  more'n  once." 

u  What  do  you  mean  —  trouble  with  the  Snaith- 
McRobert  outfit?" 

"That's  a  long  story.  The  bad  feelin'  started 
soon  after  the  war  when  Snaith  an'  the  old  man 
were  brandin'  mavericks.  It  kind  of  smouldered 
along  for  a  while,  then  broke  out  again  when  both 
of  them  began  to  bid  on  Government  beef  contracts. 
There's  been  some  shootin'  back  an'  forth  an' 
there's  liable  to  be  a  whole  lot  more.  The  Lazy 
S  M  —  that's  the  Snaith-McRobert  brand  — 
claims  the  whole  Pecos  country  by  priority.  The 
old  man  ain't  recognizin'  any  such  fool  title.  He's 
got  more  'n  thirty  thousand  head  of  cattle  there  an' 
he'll  fight  for  the  grass  if  he  has  to.  O'  course 
there's  plenty  of  room  for  everybody  if  it  wasn't 
for  the  beef  contracts  an'  the  general  bad  feelin'." 


A  Man  Four-Square  71 

"Don't  you  reckon  it  will  be  settled  peaceably? 
They  '11  get  together  an'  talk  it  over  like  reasonable 
folks." 

Billie  shook  his  head.  "The  Lazy  S  M  pre 
bringin'  in  a  lot  of  bad  men  from  Texas  an'  the 
Strip.  Some  of  our  boys  ain't  exactly  gun-shy 
either.  One  of  these  days  there's  sure  goin'  to  be 
sudden  trouble." 

"I'm  no  gunman,"  protested  Clanton  indig- 
nantly. "I  hired  out  to  the  old  man  to  punch  cows. 
Whyf or  should  I  take  any  chances  with  the  Snaith- 
McRobert  outfit  when  I  ain't  got  a  thing  in  the 
world  against  them?" 

"No,  you're  no  gunman,"  grinned  his  friend  in 
amiable  derision.  "Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  is  a  quiet 
little  Sunday-go-to-meetin'  kid.  It  was  kinder  by 
accident  that  he  bumped  off  four  Apaches  an'  a 
halfbreed  the  other  day." 

"Now  don't  you  blame  me  for  that,  Billie.  You 
was  hell-bent  on  goin'  into  the  Roubideau  place  an' 
I  trailed  along.  When  you  got  yore  pill  in  the  laig 
you  made  me  ride  up  the  gulch  alone.  I  claim  I 
was  n't  to  blame  for  them  Mescaleros.  I  was  n't 
either." 

Prince  had  made  his  prophecy  about  the  coming 
trouble  lightly.  He  could  not  guess  that  the  most 
terrible  feud  in  the  history  of  the  West  was  to 
spring  out  of  the  quarrel  between  Snaith  and  Webb, 
a  border  war  so  grim  and  deadly  that  within  three 
years  more  than  a  hundred  lusty  men  were  to  fall 
in  battle  and  from  assassination.  It  would  have 
amazed  him  to  know  that  the  bullet  which  laid  low 


72  A  Man  Four-Square 

the  renegade  in  Shoot-a-Buck  Canon  had  set  the 
spark  to  the  evil  passions  which  resulted  in  what 
came  to  be  called  the  Washington  County  War. 
Least  of  all  could  he  tell  that  the  girl-faced  boy 
riding  beside  him  was  to  become  the  best-known 
character  of  all  the  desperate  ones  engaged  in  the 
trouble. 


Chapter  VIII 

The  Fight 

Half  a  dozen  cowboys  cantered  up  the  main  street 
of  Los  Portales  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  One  of  them, 
older  than  the  rest,  let  out  the  wild  yell  he  had 
known  in  the  days  when  he  rode  with  Quantrell's 
guerrillas  on  the  infamous  raids  of  that  bandit.  A 
second  flung  into  the  blue  sky  three  rapid  revolver 
shots.  Plainly  they  were  advertising  the  fact  that 
they  had  come  to  paint  the  town  red  and  did  not 
care  who  knew  it. 

The  riders  pulled  up  abruptly  in  front  of  Tolle- 
son's  Gaming  Palace  &  Saloon,  swung  from  their 
horses,  and  trailed  with  jingling  spurs  into  that 
oasis  of  refreshment.  Each  of  them  carried  in  his 
hand  a  rope.  The  other  end  of  the  rawhide  was 
tied  to  the  horn  of  a  saddle. 

A  heavy-set,  bow-legged  man  led  the  procession 
to  the  bar.  He  straddled  forward  with  a  swagger. 
The  bartender  was  busy  dusting  his  stock.  Before 
the  man  had  a  chance  to  turn,  the  butt  of  a  revolver 
hammered  the  counter. 

"  Get  busy  here !  Set  'em  up,  Mike.  And  jump ! " 
snarled  the  heavy  man. 

The  barkeeper  took  one  look  at  him  and  filed  no 
demurrer.  "Bad  man"  was  writ  on  every  line  of 
the  sullen,  dissipated  face  of  the  bully.  It  was  a  safe 
bet  that  he  was  used  to  having  his  own  way,  or  fail- 
ing that  was  ready  to  fight  at  the  drop  of  the  hat. 


74  A  Man  Four-Square 

Swiftly  the  drinks  were  prepared. 

"Here's  how!" 

"How!" 

Every  glass  was  tilted  and  emptied. 

It  was  high  noon  by  the  sun  and  Tolleson's  was 
practically  deserted.  No  devotees  sat  round  the 
faro,  roulette,  and  keno  tables.  The  dealers  were 
asleep  in  bed  after  their  labors.  So  too  were  the 
dance  girls.  The  poker  rooms  upstairs  held  only 
the  stale  odor  of  tobacco  and  whiskey.  Except  for 
a  sleepy  negro  roustabout  attendant  and  two  young 
fellows  at  a  table  well  back  from  the  bar,  the  cow- 
boys had  the  big  hall  all  to  themselves. 

The  bar  was  near  the  front  of  the  barnlike  room 
and  to  the  right.  To  the  left,  along  the  wall,  were 
small  tables.  Farther  back  were  those  used  for 
gaming.  In  the  rear  one  corner  of  the  floor  held  a 
rostrum  with  seats  for  musicians.  The  center  of 
the  hall  was  kept  clear  for  dancing.  Three  steps 
led  to  a  door  halfway  back  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  building.  They  communicated  with  an  outer 
stairway  by  means  of  which  one  could  reach  the 
poker  rooms. 

The  older  of  the  two  young  men  at  the  table 
nodded  toward  the  roisterers  and  murmured  infor- 
mation.  "Some  of  the  Snaith-McRobert  crowd." 

His  companion  was  seated  with  his  back  to  the 
bar.  He  had  not  turned  his  head  to  look  at  those 
lined  up  in  front  of  the  mirrors  for  drinks,  but  a 
curious  change  had  come  over  him.  The  relaxed 
body  had  grown  rigid.  No  longer  was  he  lounging 
against  the  back  of  his  chair.    From  his  eyes  the 


A  Man  Four-Square  75 

laughter  had  been  wiped  out,  as  a  wet  sponge  oblit- 
erates writing  on  a  slate.  All  his  forces  were  gath- 
ered as  if  for  instant  action.  He  was  tense  as  a 
coiled  spring.  His  friend  noticed  that  the  boy  was 
listening  intently,  every  faculty  concentrated  at 
attention. 

A  man  leaning  against  the  other  end  of  the  bar 
was  speaking.  He  had  a  shock  of  long  red  hair  and 
a  squint  to  his  eyes. 

"Sure  you're  right.  A  bunch  of  Webb's  gunmen 
got  Ranse  —  caught  him  out  alone  and  riddled  him. 
When  Webb  drove  through  here  two  days  ago  with 
a  herd,  his  killers  bragged  of  it.  Ask  Harsha  up  at 
the  Buffalo  Corral  if  youse  don't  believe  me.  Sure 
as  hell's  hot  we  got  to  go  on  the  war-path.  Here, 
you  Mike!  Set  'em  up  again." 

The  boy  at  the  table  had  drawn  back  his  lips  so 
that  the  canine  teeth  stood  out  like  tusks.  There 
was  something  wolfish  about  the  face,  from  which 
all  the  color  had  been  driven.  It  expressed  some- 
thing so  deadly,  so  menacing,  that  the  young  man 
across  from  him  felt  a  shock  almost  of  fear. 

"We'd  better  get  out  of  here,"  he  said,  glancing 
toward  the  group  near  the  front  door* 

The  other  young  man  did  not  answer,  but  he 
made  no  move  to  leave.  He  was  still  taking  in  every 
syllable  of  what  the  drinkers  were  saying. 

The  ex-guerrilla  was  talking.  "Tha  's  sure  say  in' 
something,  Hugh.  There  ain't  room  in  New  Mexico 
for  Webb's  outfit  an'  ours  too." 

"Better  go  slow,  boys,"  advised  another.  He 
was  a  thick-set  man  in  the  late  thirties,  tight-lipped 


76  A  Man  Four-Square 

and  heavy- jawed.  His  eyes  were  set  so  close  to- 
gether that  it  gave  him  a  sinister  expression. 
"Talkin'  don't  get  us  anywhere.  If  we're  goin'  to 
sit  in  a  game  with  Homer  Webb  an'  his  punchers 
we  got  to  play  our  hand  close." 

"Buck  Sanders,  segundo  of  the  Lazy  S  M 
ranches,"  explained  again  the  young  man  at  the 
table  in  a  low  voice.  "Say,  kid,  let's  beat  it  while 
the  goin'  is  good." 

The  big  bow-legged  man  answered  the  foreman. 
"You're  right,  Buck.  So's  Hugh.  So's  the  old 
rebel.  I'm  jus'  servin'  notice  that  no  bunch  of 
shorthorn  punchers  can  kill  a  brother  of  mine  an* 
get  away  with  it.  Un'erstand?  I'll  meet  up  with 
them  some  day  an'  I'll  sure  fog  'em  to  a  fare-you- 
well."  He  interlarded  his  speech  with  oaths  and 
foul  language. 

"I'll  bet  you  do,  Dave,"  chipped  in  the  man 
next  him,  who  had  had  a  run-in  with  the  Texas 
Rangers  and  was  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization 
because  the  Lone  Star  State  did  not  suit  his  health. 
"I  would  certainly  hate  to  be  one  of  them  when 
yore  old  six-gun  begins  to  pop.  It  sure  will  be 
Glory-hallelujah  for  some  one." 

Dave  Roush  ordered  another  drink  on  the 
strength  of  the  Texan's  admiration.  "Mind,  I  don't 
say  Ranse  was  n't  a  good  man.  Mebbe  I  'm  a  leetle 
mite  better  'n  him  with  a  hogleg.   Mebbe  — " 

"Ranse  was  good  with  a  revolver  all  right,  but 
sho !  you  make  him  look  like  a  plugged  nickel  when 
you  go  to  makin'  smoke,  Dave,"  interrupted  the 
toady. 


A  Man  Four-Square  77 

"Well,  mebbe  I  do.  Say  I  do.  I  ain't  yet  met  up 
with  a  man  can  beat  me  when  I  'm  right.  But  at 
that  Ranse  was  a  mighty  good  man.  They  bush- 
whacked him,  I  '11  bet  a  stack  of  blues.  I  aim  to  git 
busy  soon  as  T  find  out  who  done  it." 

The  red-headed  man  raised  his  voice  a  trifle. 
"Say,  you  kid  —  there  at  the  table  —  come  here 
an'  hold  these  ropes !  See  you  don't  let  the  hawsses 
at  the  other  end  of  'em  git  away!" 

Slowly  the  boy  turned,  pushing  his  chair  round 
so  that  he  half -faced  the  group  before  the  bar.  He 
neither  rose  nor  answered. 

"Cayn't  you-all  hear?"  demanded  the  man  with 
the  shock  of  unkempt,  red  hair. 

"I  hear,  but  I'm  not  comin'  right  away.  When  I 
do,  you'll  wish  I  had  n't." 

If  a  bomb  had  exploded  at  his  feet  Hugh  Roush 
could  not  have  been  more  surprised.  He  was  a  big, 
rough  man,  muscular  and  sinewy,  and  he  had  been 
the  victor  of  many  a  rough-and-tumble  fight.  On 
account  of  his  reputation  for  quarrelsomeness  men 
chose  their  words  carefully  when  they  spoke  to  him. 
That  this  little  fellow  with  the  smooth,  girlish  face 
and  the  small,  almost  womanish  hands  and  feet 
should  defy  him  was  hard  to  believe. 

"Come  a-runnin',  kid,  or  I'll  whale  the  life  out 
of  you!  "  he  roared. 

"You  did  n't  get  me  right,"  answered  the  boy  in 
a  low,  clear  voice.  "  I  'm  not  comin'  till  I  get  ready, 
Hugh  Roush." 

The  wolf  snap  of  the  boy's  jaw,  the  cold  glitter  in 
his  eyes,  might  have  warned  Roush  and  perhaps 


78  A  Man  Four-Square 

did.  He  wondered,  too,  how  this  stranger  knew  his 
name  so  well. 

"Where  are  you  from?"  he  demanded. 

"From  anywhere  but  here." 

"Meanin'  that  you're  here  to  stay?" 

"Meanin'  that  I'm  here  to  stay." 

"Even  if  I  tell  you  to  git  out  of  the  country?" 

"You  won't  be  alive  to  tell  me  unless  you  talk 
right  sudden." 

They  watched  each  other,  the  man  and  the  boy. 
Neither  as  yet  made  any  motion  to  draw  his  gun, 
the  younger  one  because  he  was  not  ready,  Roush 
because  he  did  not  want  to  show  any  premature 
alarm  before  the  men  taking  in  the  scene.  Nor 
could  he  yet  convince  himself,  in  spite  of  the  chal- 
lenge that  rang  in  the  words  of  the  boy,  of  serious 
danger  from  so  unlikely  a  source. 

Dave  Roush  had  been  watching  the  boy  closely. 
A  likeness  to  some  one  whom  he  could  not  place 
stirred  faintly  his  memory. 

"  Who  are  you?  What 's  yore  name?  "  he  snapped 
out. 

The  boy  had  risen  from  the  chair.  His  hand 
rested  on  his  hip  as  if  casually.  But  Dave  had  ob- 
served the  sureness  of  his  motions  and  he  accepted 
nothing  as  of  chance.  The  experience  of  Roush  was 
that  a  gunman  lives  longer  if  he  is  cautious.  His 
fingers  closed  on  the  butt  of  the  revolver  at  his  side. 

"My  name  is  James  Clanton." 

Roush  let  fall  a  surprised  oath.  "It's  Tandy 
Clanton  you  look  like!  You're  her  brother  —  the 
kid,  Jimmie." 


A  Man  Four-Square  79 

"You've  guessed  it,  Devil  Dave." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  crossed  like  rapiers. 

"Howcome  you  here?  Whad  you  want?"  asked 
Roush  thickly. 

Already  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  kill,  but  he 
wanted  to  choose  his  own  moment.  The  instinct  of 
the  killer  is  always  to  take  his  enemy  at  advantage. 
CJanton,  with  that  sixth  sense  which  serves  the 
fighter,  read  his  purpose  as  if  he  had  printed  it  on 
a  sign. 

"You  know  why  I'm  here  —  to  stomp  the  life 
out  of  you  an'  yore  brother  for  what  you  done  to 
my  sister.  I've  listened  to  yore  brags  about  what 
you  would  do  when  you  met  up  with  them  that 
killed  Ranse  Roush.  Fine!  Now  let 's  see  you  make 
good.  I'm  the  man  that  ran  him  down  an'  put  an 
end  to  him.  Go  through,  you  four-flushin'  coward! 
Come  a-shootin'  whenever  you're  ready." 

The  young  Southerner  had  a  definite  motive  in 
his  jeering.  He  wanted  to  drive  his  enemies  to  at- 
tack him  before  they  could  come  at  him  from  two 
sides. 

"You  —  you  killed  Ranse?" 

"You  heard  me  say  it  once."  The  eyes  of  the 
boy  flashed  for  a  moment  to  the  red-headed  man. 
"Whyfor  are  you  dodgin'  back  of  the  bar,  Hugh 
Roush?  Ain't  odds  of  two  to  one  good  enough  for 
you  —  an'  that  one  only  a  kid  —  without  you  run- 
nin'  to  cover  like  the  coyote  you  are?  Looks  like 
you'll  soon  be  whinin'  for  me  not  to  shoot,  just  like 
Ranse  did." 

If  any  one  had  cared  to  notice,  the  colored  roust- 


80  A  Man  Four-Square 

about  might  have  been  seen  at  that  moment  van- 
ishing out  of  the  back  door  to  a  zone  of  safety.  He 
showed  no  evidence  whatever  of  being  sleepy. 

The  silence  that  followed  the  words  of  the  boy 
was  broken  by  Quantrell's  old  gray  back.  Dave 
Roush  was  a  bad  man  —  a  killer.  He  had  three 
notches  on  his  gun.  Perhaps  he  had  killed  others 
before  coming  West.  At  any  rate,  he  was  no  fair 
match  for  this  undersized  boy. 

"He's  a  kid,  Dave.  You  don't  want  to  gun  a 
kid.  You,  Clanton  —  whatever  you  call  yourself  — 
light  a  shuck  pronto  —  git  out!" 

It  is  the  habit  of  the  killer  to  look  for  easy  game. 
Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  the  man  who  had  be- 
trayed 'Lindy  Clanton  saw  that  Hugh  was  edging 
back  of  the  bar  and  dragging  out  his  gun.  This  boy 
could  be  killed  safely  now,  since  they  were  two  to 
one,  both  of  them  experts  with  the  revolver.  To 
let  him  escape  would  be  to  live  in  constant  danger 
for  the  future. 

"He's  askin'  for  it,  Reb.   He's  goin'  to  get  it." 

Dave  Roush  pulled  his  gun,  but  before  he  could 
use  it  two  shots  rang  out  almost  simultaneously. 
The  man  at  the  corner  of  the  bar  had  the  advan- 
tage. His  revolver  was  in  the  clear  before  that  of 
Clanton,  but  Jim  fired  from  the  hip  without  appar- 
ent aim.  The  bullet  was  flung  from  the  barrel  an 
imperceptible  second  before  that  of  Roush.  The 
gunman,  hit  in  the  wrist  of  the  right  hand,  gave  a 
grunt  and  took  shelter  back  of  the  bar. 

The  bystanders  scurried  for  safety  while  explo- 
sion followed   explosion.    Young   Clanton,  light- 


A  Man  Four-Square  31 

footed  as  a  cat,  side-stepped  and  danced  about  as 
he  fired.  The  first  shot  of  the  red-headed  man  had 
hit  him  and  the  shock  of  it  interfered  with  his  ac- 
curacy. Hugh  had  disappeared,  but  above  the 
smoke  the  youngster  still  saw  the  cruel  face  of 
Devil  Dave  leering  triumphantly  at  him  behind 
the  pumping  gun. 

The  boy  kept  moving,  so  that  his  body  did  not 
offer  a  static  target.  He  concentrated  his  attention 
on  Dave,  throwing  shot  after  shot  at  him.  That  he 
would  kill  his  enemy  Clanton  never  had  a  doubt. 
It  was  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind  that  he  had  been 
sent  as  the  appointed  executioner  of  the  man. 

It  was  no  surprise  to  Jim  when  the  face  of  his 
sister's  betrayer  lurched  forward  into  the  smoke. 
He  heard  Roush  fall  heavily  to  the  floor  and  saw 
the  weapon  hurled  out  of  reach.  The  fellow  lay 
limp  and  still. 

Clanton  did  not  waste  a  second  look  at  the  fallen 
man.  He  knew  that  the  other  Roush,  crouched  be- 
hind the  bar,  had  been  firing  at  him  through  the 
woodwork.  Now  a  bullet  struck  the  wall  back  of 
his  head.  The  red-headed  man  had  fired  looking 
through  a  knot-hole. 

The  boy's  weapon  covered  a  spot  three  inches 
above  this.  He  fired  instantly.  A  splinter  flew 
from  a  second  hole  just  above  the  first.  Three 
long,  noiseless  strides  brought  Clanton  to  the  end 
of  the  bar.  The  red-headed  man  lay  dead  on  the 
floor.  The  bullet  had  struck  him  just  above  and 
between  the  eyes. 

"I  reckon  that  ends  the  job." 


82  A  Man  Four-Square 

It  was  Jim's  voice  that  said  the  words,  though 
he  hardly  recognized  it.  Overcome  by  a  sudden 
nausea,  he  leaned  against  the  bar  for  support.  He 
felt  sick  through  and  through. 


Chapter  IX 

Billie  Stands  Pat 

Clanton  came  back  out  of  the  haze  to  find  his 
friend's  arm  around  his  waist,  the  sound  of  his 
strong,  cheerful  voice  in  his  ears. 

"Steady,  old  fellow,  steady.  Where  did  they  hit 
you,  Jim?" 

" In  the  shoulder.   I'm  sick." 

Billie  supported  him  to  a  chair  and  called  to  the 
bartender,  who  was  cautiously  rising  from  a  prone 
position  behind  the  bar.  "Bring  a  glass  of  water, 
Mike." 

The  wounded  man  drank  the  water,  and  pres- 
ently the  sickness  passed.  He  saw  a  little  crowd 
gather.  Some  of  them  carried  out  the  body  of 
Hugh  Roush.  They  returned  for  that  of  his  brother. 

"Dave  ain't  dead  yet.  He's  still  breathing," 
one  of  the  men  said. 

"Not  dead!"  exclaimed  Clanton.  "Did  you  say 
he  wasn't  dead?" 

"Now,  don't  you  worry  about  that,"  cautioned 
Prince.  "Looks  to  me  like  you  sure  got  him.  Any- 
how, it  ain't  your  fault.  You  were  that  quiet  and 
game  and  cool.   I  never  saw  the  beat." 

The  admiration  of  his  partner  did  not  comfort 
Jim.  He  was  suspiciously  near  a  breakdown. 
"  Why  did  n't  I  take  another  crack  at  him  when  I 
had  the  chance?"  he  whimpered.  "I  been  waitin' 
all  these  years,  an'  now  — " 


84  A  Man  Four-Square 

"I  tell  you  he  hasn't  a  chance  in  a  thousand, 
Jim.   You  did  the  job  thorough.   He's  got  his." 

Prince  had  been  intending  to  say  more,  but  he 
changed  his  mind.  Half  a  dozen  men  were  coming 
toward  them  from  the  front  door.  Buck  Sanders 
was  one  of  them,  Quantrell's  trooper  another. 
Their  manner  looked  like  business. 

Sanders  was  the  spokesman.  "You  boys  ride 
for  the  Flying  V  Y,  don't  you?"  he  asked  curtly. 

"We  do,"  answered  Billie,  and  his  voice  was  just 
as  cold.  It  had  in  it  the  snap  of  a  whiplash. 

"You  came  in  here  to  pick  trouble  with  us. 
Your  pardner  —  Clanton,  whatever  his  name  is  — 
gave  it  out  straight  that  he  was  goin'  to  kill  Roush." 

"He  did  n't  mention  you,  did  he?" 

"The  Roush  brothers  were  in  our  party.  We  ride 
for  the  Lazy  S  M.  We  don't  make  distinctions." 

"Don't  you?  Listen,"  advised  Prince.  In  five 
sentences  he  sketched  the  cause  of  the  trouble  be- 
tween Jim  Clanton  and  the  Roush  brothers.  "My 
bunkie  did  n't  kill  any  of  the  Roush  clan  because 
they  worked  for  Snaith  and  McRobert.  He  shot 
them  for  the  reason  I  've  just  given  you.  That 's  his 
business.  It  was  a  private  feud  of  his  own.  You 
heard  what  was  said  before  the  shootin'  began,"  he 
concluded. 

"  Tha's  what  you  say.  You'll  tell  us,  too,  that  he 
got  Ranse  Roush  in  a  fair  fight.  But  you've  got  to 
show  us  proof,"  Sanders  said  with  a  sneer. 

"I  expect  just  now  you'll  have  to  take  my  word 
and  his.  I'll  tell  you  this.  Ranse  Roush  was  a  rene- 
gade. He  was  ridin'  with  a  bunch  of  bronco  bucks. 


A  Man  Four-Square  85 

They  attacked  the  Roubideau  place  an'  we  rode  — 
Jim  an'  I  did  —  to  help  Pierre  an'  his  family.  We 
drove  the  Taches  off,  but  they  picked  up  Miss 
Pauline  while  she  was  out  ridin'  alone.  We  took 
after  'em.  I  got  wounded  an'  Jim  here  went  up  a 
gulch  lickety-split  to  catch  the  red  devils.  He 
got  four  'Paches  an'  one  hell-hound  of  a  rene- 
gade. Is  there  a  white  man  here  that  blames  him 
for  it?" 

Wlien  all  is  said,  the  prince  of  deadly  weapons  at 
close  range  is  the  human  eye.  Billie  was  standing 
beside  his  friend,  one  hand  resting  lightly  on  his 
shoulder.  The  cowpuncher  was  as  lithe  and  clean 
of  build  as  a  mastiff,  but  it  was  the  steady  candor 
of  his  honest  eye  that  spoke  most  potently. 

"Naturally  you  tell  a  good  story,"  retorted  the 
foreman  with  dry  incredulity.  "It's  up  to  you  ttf 
come  through  with  an  explanation  of  why  Webb's 
men  have  just  gunned  three  of  our  friends.  Your 
story  does  n't  make  any  hit  with  me.  I  don't  be- 
lieve a  word  of  it." 

"You  can  take  it  or  let  it  alone.  It  goes  as  I've 
told  it,"  Prince  cut  back  shortly. 

Another  man  spoke  up.  He  was  a  tinhorn  gam- 
bler of  Los  Portales  and  for  reasons  of  his  own 
foregathered  with  the  Snaith-McRobert  faction. 
"Look  here,  young  fellow.  You  may  or  may  not  be 
in  this  thing  deep.  I  'm  willin'  to  give  you  the  bene- 
fit of  the  doubt  if  my  friends  are.  I'd  hate  to  see 
you  bumped  off  when  you  did  n't  do  any  of  the 
killin'.  All  we  want  is  justice.  This  is  a  square 
town.   When  bad  men  go  too  far  we  plant  'em  on 


86  A  Man  Four-Square 

Boot  Hill.  Understand?  Now  you  slide  out  of  the 
back  door,  slap  a  saddle  on  your  bronc,  an'  hit  the 
high  spots  out  of  here." 

"And  Clanton?"  asked  Billie. 

"We'll  attend  to  Clanton's  case." 

A  faint  smile  touched  the  sardonic  face  of  Prince. 
"What  did  you  ever  see  me  do  to  give  you  the 
notion  that  I  was  yellow,  Bancock?" 

"This  ain't  your  affair.  You  step  aside  an'  let 
justice — " 

"If  those  that  holler  for  justice  loudest  had  it 
done  to  them  there  would  be  a  lot  of  squealin'  out- 
side of  hogpens." 

"You  won't  take  that  offer,  then?" 

"Not  this  year  of  our  Lord,  thank  you." 

"You've  had  your  chance.  If  you  turn  it  down 
you're  liable  to  go  out  of  here  feet  first." 

Not  a  muscle  twitched  in  the  lean,  brown  face 
of  the  young  cowpuncher.  "Cut  loose  whenever 
you're  ready." 

"Hold  yore  hawsses,  friend,"  advised  the  ex- 
guerrilla,  not  unkindly.  "  There 's  no  occasion  what- 
ever for  you  to  run  on  the  rope.  We  are  six  to  two, 
countin*  the  kid,  who 's  got  about  all  he  can  carry 
for  one  day.  We're  here  askin'  questions,  an'  it's 
reasonable  for  you  to  answer  'em." 

"I  have  answered  'em.  I'll  answer  all  you  want 
to  ask.  But  I'd  think  you  would  feel  cheap  to  come 
kickin'  about  that  fight.  My  friend  fought  fair. 
You  know  best  whether  your  friends  did.  He  took 
'em  at  odds  of  two  to  one,  an'  at  that  one  of  your 
gunmen  hunted  cover.  What's  troublin'  you,  any- 


A  Man  Four-Square  87 

how?  Did  n't  you  have  all  the  breaks?  Do  you 
want  an  open  an'  shut  cinch?" 

"You're  quite  a  lawyer,"  replied  Dumont,  the 
man  who  found  the  climate  of  Texas  unhealthy. 
"I  reckon  it  would  take  a  good  one  to  talk  himself 
out  of  the  hole  you're  in." 

Billie  looked  at  the  man  and  Dumont  decided 
that  he  did  not  have  a  speaking  part  in  the  scene. 
He  was  willing  to  remain  one  of  the  mob.  In  point 
of  fact,  after  what  he  had  seen  in  the  last  few  min- 
utes, he  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  force  the  issue  to 
actual  battle.  A  good  strong  bluff  would  suit  him  a 
great  deal  better.  Even  odds  of  six  to  two  were  not 
good  enough  considering  the  demonstration  he  had 
witnessed. 

"What  is  it  you  want?  Another  showdown?" 
asked  Clanton  unexpectedly. 

QuantrelPs  man  laughed.  "I  never  did  see  such 
a  fire-eater." 

He  turned  to  his  companions.  "I  told  you  how 
it  would  be.  We  can't  prove  a  thing  against  the 
kid  except  that  he  was  lookin'  for  a  fight  an'  got 
it.  He  played  the  hand  that  was  dealt  him  an'  he 
played  it  good.  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  let  him  go 
this  time,  boys." 

''We'll  make  a  mistake  if  we  do,"  differed  San- 
ders. 

"You'll  make  one  if  you  don't,"  said  Prince 
pointedly. 

He  stood  poised,  every  nerve  and  muscle  set  to 
a  hair-trigger  for  swift  action.  Of  those  facing  him 
not  one  of  the  six  but  knew  they  would  have  to  pay 


88  A  Man  Four-Square 

the  price  before  they  could  exact  vengeance  for  the 
death  of  the  Roush  brothers. 

"What's  the  use  of  beefing?"  grumbled  a  one- 
armed  puncher  in  the  rear.  "They  shot  up  three 
of  our  friends.   What  more  do  you  want?" 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Albeen,"  advised  Billie. 
"It's  easy  to  start  something.  We  all  know  you 
burn  powder  quick.  You're  a  sure-enough  bad 
man.  But  I've  got  a  hunch  it's  goim'  to  be  your 
funeral  as  well  as  mine  if  once  the  band  begins  to 
play." 

"That  so?"  replied  Albeen  with  heavy  sarcasm. 
"You  talk  like  you  was  holdin'  a  royal  flush,  my 
friend." 

"I'm  holdin'  a  six-full  an'  Clanton  has  another. 
We're  sittin'  in  strong." 

Dumont  proposed  a  compromise.  "  Why  not  just 
arrest  'em  an'  hold  'em  at  Bluewater  till  we  find 
whether  their  story  is  true?" 

"Bring  a  warrant  along  before  you  try  that," 
Billie  countered.  "Think  we  were  born  yesterday? 
No  Lazy  S  M  sheriff,  judge,  an'  jury  for  me,  if  you 
please." 

The  old  guerrilla  nodded.  "That's  reasonable, 
too.  We  have  n't  got  a  leg  to  stand  on,  boys.  This 
young  fellow's  story  may  be  true  an'  it  may  not. 
All  we  know  is  what  we  've  seen.  Clanton  here  took 
a  mighty  slim  chance  of  comin'  through  alive  when 
he  tackled  Dave  an'  Hugh  Roush.  I  would  n't  have 
give  a  chew  of  tobacco  against  a  week's  pay  for  it. 
He  fought  fair,  did  n't  he?  Now  he 's  come  through 
I  '11  be  doggoned  if  I  want  to  jump  on  him  again.'* 


A  Man  Four-Square  89 

"You're  too  soft  for  this  country,  Reb,"  sneered 
Albeen.  "Better  go  back  to  Arkansas  or  wherever 
you  come  from." 

"  When  I  get  ready.  You  don't  mean  right  away, 
Albeen,  do  you?"  demanded  the  old-timer  sharply. 

"Well,  don't  hang  around  all  day,"  said  Prince, 
his  eye  full  in  that  of  the  foreman.  "Make  up  your 
minds  whether  you  want  to  jump  one  man  an'  a 
wounded  boy.  If  you  don't  mean  business  I'd  like 
to  have  a  doctor  look  at  my  friend's  shoulder." 

Sanders's  eyes  fell  at  last  before  the  quiet  steadi- 
ness of  that  gaze.  With  an  oath  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  strode  from  the  gambling-hall.  His  party 
straggled  morosely  after  him.  The  old  raider  lin- 
gered for  a  last  word. 

"Take  a  fool's  advice,  Prince.  There's  a  gun- 
barrel  road  leads  out  of  town  for  the  north.  Hit  it 
pronto.  Stay  with  it  till  you  come  up  with  Webb's 
herd.  You  won't  see  his  dust  any  too  soon." 

"I  guess  you're  right,  Reb,"  agreed  Prince. 

"You  know  I'm  right.  Just  now  you've  got  the 
boys  bluffed,  but  it  is  n't  going  to  last.  They'll  get 
busy  lappin'  up  drinks.  Quite  a  crowd  of  town 
toughs  will  join  'em.  By  night  they  '11  be  all  primed 
up  for  a  lynching.  I  'd  spoil  their  party  if  I  was  you 
by  bein'  distant  absentees." 

"Soon  as  I  can  get  Jim's  shoulder  fixed  up  we'll 
be  joggin'  along  if  he's  able  to  travel,"  promised 
Billie. 

"  Good  enough.  And  I  'd  see  he  was  able  if  it  was 
me, 


Chapter  X 

Bud  Proctor  Lends  a  Hand 

After  the  doctor  had  dressed  the  wounded  shoul- 
der he  ordered  Clanton  to  go  to  bed  at  once  and 
stay  there.  "What  he  needs  is  rest,  proper  food, 
and  sleep.   See  he  gets  them." 

"I'll  try,"  said  Billie  dryly.  "Sometimes  a  fel- 
low can't  sleep  when  he's  got  a  lead  pill  in  him, 
doctor.  Could  you  give  me  something  to  help  him 
forget  the  pain  an'  the  fever?" 

The  doctor  made  up  some  powders.  "One  every 
two  hours  till  he  gets  to  sleep.  I'll  come  and  see 
him  in  the  morning.  You're  at  the  Proctor  House, 
are  n't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  Roush  goin'  to  live?"  asked  Jim. 

The  professional  man  looked  at  the  boy  specu- 
latively. He  wondered  whether  the  young  fellow 
was  suffering  qualms  of  conscience.  Since  he  did 
not  believe  in  the  indiscriminate  shooting  in  vogue 
on  the  frontier,  he  was  willing  this  youngster  should 
worry  a  bit. 

"Not  one  chance  for  him  in  a  hundred,"  he  re- 
plied brusquely. 

"That's  good.  I'd  hate  to  have  to  do  it  all  over 
again.  Have  you  got  the  makin's  with  you.  Bil- 
lie?" Clanton  asked  evenly. 

"I've  got  a  plain  and  simple  word  for  such  kill- 


A  Man  Four-Square  9] 

ings,"  the  doctor  said,  flushing.  "I  find  it  in  my 
Bible." 

"That's  where  my  dad  found  it  too,  doctor." 

With  which  cryptic  utterance  Clanton  led  the 
way  out  of  the  office  to  the  hotel. 

Jimmie  lay  down  dressed  on  the  bed  of  their 
joint  room  while  his  friend  went  down  to  the  porch 
to  announce  to  sundry  loafers,  from  whom  the  news 
would  spread  over  town  shortly,  that  Clanton  had 
gone  to  sleep  and  was  on  no  account  to  be  disturbed 
till  morning. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  Billie  might  have  been 
seen  fixing  a  stirrup  leather  for  Bud  Proctor,  the 
fourteen-year-old  heir  of  the  hotel  proprietor.  He 
and  the  youngster  appeared  to  be  having  a  bully 
time  on  the  porch,  but  it  was  noticeable  that  the 
cowpuncher,  for  all  his  manner  of  casual  careless- 
ness, sat  close  to  the  wall  in  the  angle  of  an  L  so 
that  nobody  could  approach  him  unobserved. 

In  an  admiring  trance  Bud  had  followed  the  two 
friends  from  the  office  of  the  doctor.  Now  he  was 
in  the  seventh  heaven  at  being  taken  into  friendship 
by  one  of  these  heroes.  At  last  he  screwed  up  his 
courage  to  refer  to  the  affair  at  Tolleson's. 

"Say,  Daniel  Boone  ain't  got  a  thing  on  yore 
friend,  has  he?  Jiminy,  I  'd  like  to  go  with  you  both 
when  you  leave  town." 

Billie  spoke  severely.  "  Get  that  notion  right  out 
of  your  haid,  Bud.  You're  goin'  to  stay  right  here 
at  home.  I  '11  tell  you  another  thing  while  we  're  on 
that  subject.  Don't  you  get  to  thinkin'  that  killers 
are  fine  people.   They  ain't.   Some  of  'em  are  n't 


92  A  Man  Four-Square 

even  game.  They  take  all  kinds  of  advantage  an* 
they're  a  cruel,  cold-blooded  lot.  Never  forget 
that.  I'm  not  talkin'  about  Jim  Clanton,  under- 
stand. He  did  what  he  thought  he  had  to  do.  I 
don't  say  he  was  right.  I  don't  say  he  was  wrong. 
But  I  will  say  that  this  country  would  be  a  whole 
lot  better  off  if  we'd  all  put  our  guns  away." 

Bud  sniffed.  "If  you  had  n't  had  yore  guns  this 
mornin'  I'd  like  to  know  where  you'd  'a'  been." 

"True  enough.  I  can't  travel  unarmed  because  of 
Indians  an'  bad  men.  What  I  say  is  that  some  day 
we'll  all  be  brave  enough  to  go  without  our  hog- 
legs.  I'll  be  glad  when  that  day  comes." 
\ i  "An'  when  you  two  went  up  Escondido  Canon 
after  the  Mescaleros  that  had  captured  Miss  Roubi- 
deau?  I  heard  Dad  Wrayburn  tellin'  all  about  it  at 
supper  here  one  night.  Well,  what  if  you  had  n't 
had  any  guns?"  persisted  Bud. 

"That  would  have  been  tough  luck,"  admitted 
Prince,  holding  up  the  leather  to  examine  his  work. 
"Learn  to  shoot  if  you  like,  Bud,  but  remember 
that  guns  are  n't  made  to  kill  folks  with.  They  're 
for  buffaloes  an'  antelope  an'  coyotes." 

"Did  n't  you  ever  kill  any  one?" 

"Haven't  you  had  any  bringin'  up?"  Billie 
wanted  to  know  indignantly  "  I  've  a  good  mind  to 
put  you  across  my  knee  an'  whale  you  with  this 
leather.  I've  a  notion  to  quit  you  here  an'  now. 
Don't  you  know  better  than  to  ask  such  questions?  " 

"It  — it  slipped  out,"  whimpered  Bud.  "I'll 
never  do  it  again." 

"See  you  don't.   Now  I'm  goin'  to  give  you  a 


A  Man  Four-Square  93 

chance  to  make  good  with  me  an'  my  friend,  Bud. 
Can  you  keep  a  secret?" 

The  eyes  of  the  boy  began  to  shine.  "Crickey. 
You  just  try  me,  Mr.  Prince." 

"All  right.  I  will.  But  first  I  must  know  that 
you  are  our  friend." 

"Cross  my  heart  an'  hope  to  die.  Honest,  I 
am." 

"I  believe  you,  Bud.  Well,  the  Snaith-McRobert 
outfit  intend  to  lynch  me  an'  my  friend  to-night." 

The  face  of  the  boy  became  all  eyes.  He  was  too 
astonished  to  speak. 

"Our  only  chance  is  to  get  out  of  town.  Jim  is 
supposed  to  be  so  bad  I  can't  move  him.  But  if 
you  can  find  an'  saddle  horses  for  us  we'll  slip  out 
the  back  door  at  dusk  an'  make  our  get-away. 
Do  you  think  you  can  get  us  horses  an'  some  food 
without  tellin'  anybody  what  for?  "  asked  the  cow- 
boy. 

"I'll  get  yore  own  horses  from  the  corral." 
*  "No.  That  won't  do.  If  you  saddled  them,  that 
would  arouse  suspicion  at  once.  You  must  bring 
two  horses  an'  tie  'em  to  the  back  fence  just  as  if 
you  were  goin'  ridin'  yourself.  Then  we'll  take 
'em  when  you  come  into  the  house.  Make  the  tie 
with  a  slip  knot.   We  may  be  in  a  hurry." 

"Gee!  This  beats  'Hal  Hiccup,  the  Boy  De- 
mon,'" crowed  Bud,  referring  to  a  famous  hero  of 
Nickel  Library  fame.  "I'll  sure  get  you  horses  all 
right." 

"I'll  make  arrangements  to  have  the  horses  sent 
back.  Bring  'em  round  just  as  it  begins  to  get  dark 


94  A  Man  Four-Square 

an*  whistle  a  bar  of  'Yankee  Doodle'  when  you  get 
here.  Now  cut  your  stick,  Bud.  Don't  be  seen  near 
me  any  more." 

The  boy  decamped.  His  face,  unable  to  conceal 
his  excitement  at  this  blessed  adventure  which  had 
fallen  from  heaven  upon  him,  was  trying  to  say 
"Golly!"  without  the  use  of  words. 

During  the  next  hour  or  two  Bud  was  a  pest. 
Twenty  times  he  asked  different  men  mysteriously 
what  o'clock  it  was.  When  he  was  sent  to  the  store 
for  pickles  he  brought  back  canned  tomatoes.  Set 
to  weeding  onions,  he  pulled  up  weeds  and  vege- 
tables impartially.  A  hundred  times  he  cast  a  long- 
ing glance  at  the  westering  sun. 

So  impatient  was  he  that  he  could  not  quite  wait 
till  dusk.  He  slipped  around  to  the  Elephant  Corral 
by  a  back  way  and  picked  out  two  horses  that 
suited  him.  Then  he  went  boldly  to  the  owner  of 
the  stable. 

"Mr.  Sanders  sent  me  to  bring  to  him  that  sorrel 
and  the  white-foot  bay.  Said  you'd  know  his 
saddle.  It  does  n't  matter  which  of  the  other  saddles 
you  use." 

Ten  minutes  later  Bud  was  walking  through  the 
back  yard  of  the  hotel  whistling  shrilly  "Yankee 
Doodle."  It  happened  that  his  father  was  an  ex- 
Confederate  and  "Dixie"  was  more  to  the  boy's 
taste,  but  he  enjoyed  the  flavor  of  the  camouflage 
he  was  employing.  It  fitted  into  his  new  rdle  of 
Bud  Proctor,  Scout  of  the  Pecos. 

The  fugitives  slipped  down  the  back  stairway  of 
the  Proctor  House  and  into  the  garden.  In  another 


A  Man  Four-Square  95 

moment  they  were  astride  and  moving  out. to  the 
sparsely  settled  suburbs  of  town. 

"Did  you  notice  the  brand  on  the  horse  you're 
ridin',  Jim?"  asked  Prince  with  a  grin. 

"Same  brand's  on  your  bay,  Billie  —  the  Lazy 
S  M.  Did  you  tell  that  kid  to  steal  us  two  horses? " 

"No,  but  you've  said  it.  I'm  on  the  bronc 
Sanders  rides,  and  you  an'  I  are  horse-thieves  now 
as  well  as  killers.   This  certainly  gets  us  in  bad." 

"I've  a  notion  to  turn  back  yet,"  said  Jim,  with 
the  irritability  of  a  sick  man.  "How  in  Mexico  did 
he  happen  to  light  on  Snaith-McRobert  stock? 
Looks  like  he  might  have  found  somethin'  else  for 
us." 

"Bud  has  too  much  imagination,"  admitted 
Prince  ruefully.  "  I  'd  bet  a  stack  of  blues  he  picked 
these  hawsses  on  purpose  —  probably  thought  it 
would  be  a  great  joke  on  Sanders  an'  his  crew." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  it.  They  've  got  us  where  they 
want  us  now." 

Billie  did  not  like  it  either.  To  kill  a  man  on  the 
frontier  then  in  fair  fight  was  a  misdemeanor.  To 
steal  a  horse  was  a  capital  offense.  Many  a  bronco 
thief  ended  his  life  at  the  end  of  a  rope  in  the  hands 
of  respectable  citizens  who  had  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness snuffed  out  the  lives  of  other  respectable  citi- 
zens. Both  of  the  Flying  V  Y  riders  knew  that  if 
they  were  caught  with  the  stock,  it  would  be  of  no 
avail  with  Sanders  to  plead  that  they  had  no  inten- 
tion of  stealing.  Possession  would  be  prima  facie 
evidence  of  guilt. 

"It's  too  late  to  go  back  now,"  Prince  decided. 


96  A  Man  Four-Square 

"We'll  travel  night  an*  day  till  we  reach  the  old 
man  an'  have  him  send  the  broncs  back.  I  hate  to 
do  it,  but  we  have  no  choice.  Anyhow,  we  might  as 
well  be  hanged  for  stealin'  a  horse  as  for  anything 
else." 

They  topped  a  hill  and  came  face  to  face  with  a 
rider  traveling  townward.  His  gaze  took  in  the  ani- 
mals carrying  the  fugitives  and  jumped  to  the  face 
of  Billie.  In  the  eyes  of  the  man  was  an  expression 
blended  of  suspicion  and  surprise.  He  passed  with 
a  nod  and  a  surly  "'Evenin'." 

"Fine  luck  we're  havin',  Billie,"  commented  his 
friend  with  a  little  laugh.  "I  give  Sanders  twenty 
minutes  to  be  on  our  trail." 


Chapter  XI 

The  Fugitives 

Through  the  gathering  darkness  Prince  watched 
the  figure  of  his  companion  droop.  The  slim,  lithe 
body  sagged  and  the  shoulders  were  heavy  with 
exhaustion.  Both  small  hands  clung  to  the  pommel 
of  the  saddle.  It  took  no  prophet  to  see  that  in  his 
present  condition  the  wounded  man  would  never 
travel  the  gun-barrel  road  as  far  as  the  dust  of  the 
Flying  V  Y  herd.  Even  by  easy  stages  he  could  not 
do  it,  and  with  pursuit  thundering  at  their  heels 
the  ride  would  be  a  cruel,  grilling  one. 

"How  about  pullin'  a  little  strategy  on  Sanders, 
Jim?  Instead  of  hittin'  the  long  trail,  let's  circle 
back  around  the  town,  strike  the  river,  make  camp, 
an'  lie  low  in  the  chaparral.  Does  that  listen  good 
to  you?" 

Young  Clanton  looked  at  his  friend  suspiciously. 
The  younger  man  was  fagged  out  and  in  a  good 
deal  of  pain.  The  jolting  of  the  pony's  movements 
jarred  the  bandages  on  the  wound.  Already  his 
fever  was  high  and  he  had  moments  of  light-head- 
edness.  He  knew  that  his  partner  was  proposing 
to  jeopardize  his  own  chances  of  escape  in  order 
to  take  care  of  him. 

"No,  sir.  We'll  keep  goin'  right  ahead."  he  said 
irritably.  "Think  I'm  a  quitter?  Think  I'm  goin' 
to  lie  down  on  you?" 

"Would  I  be  likely  to  think  that?"  asked  Billie 


98  A  Man  Four-Square 

gently.  "What  I'm  thinkin'  is  that  both  of  us 
would  be  better  for  a  good  night's  rest.  Why  not 
throw  off  an*  camp  in  the  darkness?  While  we're 
sleepin'  Sanders  an'  his  posse  will  be  ridin'  the 
hearts  out  of  their  horses.  It  looks  like  good  busi- 
ness to  me  to  let  'em  go  to  it." 

"No,"  said  Jim  obstinately.  "No.  We'll  keep 
ridin'." 

Prince  knew  that  the  other  understood  what  he 
was  trying  to  do,  and  that  his  pride  —  and  perhaps 
something  better  than  pride  —  would  not  accept 
such  a  sacrifice.  Billie  said  no  more,  but  his  mind 
still  wrestled  with  the  problem  before  him.  It  was 
impossible,  while  his  comrade  was  so  badly  hurt, 
to  hold  a  pace  that  would  keep  them  ahead  of  the 
Lazy  S  M  riders.  Already  Sanders  must  be  gaining 
on  them,  and  to  make  matters  worse  Clanton  drew 
down  to  a  walk.  His  high-pitched  voice  and  dis- 
jointed expressions  told  the  older  man  that  he  was 
at  the  beginning  of  delirium. 

"  WTiat  do  you  mean,  standin'  there  and  grinnin* 
at  me  like  a  wolf,  Dave  Roush?  I  killed  you  once. 
You're  dead  an'  buried.  How  come  you  alive 
again?  Then  shoot,  both  of  you!  Come  out  from 
cover,  Hugh  Roush."  He  stopped,  and  took  the 
matter  up  from  another  angle.  "You're  a  liar,  you 
coyote.  I'm  not  runnin'  away.  Two  to  one  .  .  . 
two  to  one  ...  I'll  ride  back  an'  gun  you  both. 
I'm  a-comin'  now." 

He  pulled  up  and  turned  his  horse.  Faintly  there 
came  to  Billie  the  thudding  of  horses'  hoofs.  In 
five  minutes  it  would  be  too  late  to  save  either  the 


A  Man  Four-Square  99 

sick  man  or  himself.  It  never  occurred  to  him  for  a 
moment  to  desert  Clanton.  Somehow  he  must  get 
him  into  the  chaparral,  and  without  an  instant's 
delay.  His  mind  seized  on  the  delirious  fancy  of  the 
young  fellow. 

"You're  sure  right,  Jim,"  he  said  quietly.  "I'd 
go  an'  gun  them  too.  I  '11  ride  with  you  an'  see  fair 
play.   They're  out  here  in  the  brush.   Come  on." 

"No.  They're  back  in  town.  Leave  'em  to  me. 
Don't  you  draw,  Billie." 

"All  right.  But  they're  over  here  to  our  right. 
I  saw  'em  there.  Come.  We  '11  sneak  up  on  'em  so 
that  they  can't  run  when  they  hear  you." 

Billie  turned.  He  swung  his  horse  into  the  mes- 
quite.  His  heart  was  heavy  with  anxiety.  Would 
the  wounded  man  accept  his  lead?  Or  would  his 
obstinacy  prevail? 

"Here  they  are.  Right  ahead  here,"  continued 
Prince. 

Followed  a  moment  of  suspense,  then  came  the 
erashing  of  brush  as  Clanton  moved  after  him. 

"S-sh!  Ride  softly,  Jim.  We  don't  want  'em  to 
hear  us  an'  get  away." 

"Tha  's  right.  Tha  's  sure  right.  You  said  some- 
thin'  then,  Billie.  But  they'll  not  get  away. 
Haven't  I  slept  on  their  trail  four  years?  They're 
mine  at  last." 

Prince  was  drawing  him  farther  from  the  road. 
But  the  danger  was  not  yet  over.  As  the  posse 
passed,  some  member  of  it  might  hear  them,  or 
young  Clanton  might  hear  it  and  gallop  out  to  the 
road  under  the  impression  he  was  going  to  meet 


100  A  Man  Four-Square 

Dave  Roush.  Billie  twisted  in  and  out  of  the  brush, 
never  for  an  instant  letting  his  friend  pull  up.  On 
a  moving  horse  one  cannot  hear  so  distinctly  as  on 
one  standing  still. 

At  last  Billie  began  to  breathe  more  easily.  The 
pursuers  must  have  passed  before  this.  He  could 
give  his  attention  to  the  sick  man. 

Jim  was  clutching  desperately  to  the  saddle-horn. 
The  fever  was  gaining  on  him  and  the  delirium 
worse.  He  talked  incessantly,  sometimes  incoher- 
ently. From  one  subject  to  another  he  went,  but 
always  he  came  back  to  Dave  Roush  and  his  brother. 
He  dared  them  to  stand  up  and  fight.  He  called 
on  them  to  stop  running,  to  wait  for  him.  Then  he 
trailed  off  into  a  string  of  epithets  usually  ending 
in  sobs  of  rage. 

The  sickness  of  the  young  man  tore  the  heart  of 
his  companion.  Every  instinct  of  kindness  urged 
him  to  stop,  make  up  a  bed  for  the  wounded  boy, 
and  let  him  rest  from  the  agony  of  travel.  But  he 
dared  not  stop  yet.  He  had  to  keep  going  till  they 
reached  a  place  of  temporary  safety. 

With  artful  promises  of  immediate  vengeance 
upon  his  enemies,  by  means  of  taunts  at  him  as  f) 
quitter,  through  urgent  proddings  that  reached 
momentarily  the  diseased  mind,  Prince  kept  hiro 
moving  through  the  brush.  The  sweat  stood  out 
on  the  white  face  of  the  young  fellow  shining 
ghastly  in  the  moonlight. 

After  what  seemed  an  interminable  time  they 
could  see  from  a  mesa  the  lights  of  Los  Portales. 
Billie  left  the  town  well  to  his  right,  skirted  the 


A  Man  Four-Square  101 

pastures  on  the  outskirts,  and  struck  the  river  icui 
miles  farther  down. 

While  they  were  still  a  long  way  from  it  the' boy 
collapsed  completely  and  slid  from  the  saddle  to 
which  he  had  so  long  clung.  His  friend  uncinched 
and  freed  the  sorrel,  lifted  the  slack  body  to  his 
own  horse,  and  walked  beside  the  animal  to  steady 
the  lurching  figure. 

At  the  bank  of  the  river  he  stopped  and  lifted  the 
body  to  the  ground.  It  lay  limp  and  slack  where 
the  cowpuncher  set  it  down.  Through  the  white 
shoulder  dressings  a  stain  of  red  had  soaked.  For 
a  moment  Billie  was  shaken  by  the  fear  that  the 
Arizonian  might  be  dead,  but  he  rejected  it  as  not 
at  all  likely.  Yet  when  he  held  his  hand  against 
the  heart  of  the  wounded  man  he  was  not  sure  that 
he  could  detect  a  beating. 

From  the  river  he  brought  water  in  his  hat  and 
splashed  it  into  the  white  face.  He  undid  the 
shoulder  bandages,  soaked  them  in  cold  water,  and 
rebound  the  wound.  Between  the  clenched  teeth 
he  forced  a  few  drops  of  whiskey  from  his  flask. 

The  eyelids  fluttered  and  slowly  opened. 

"  Where  are  we,  Billie?  "  the  sick  man  asked;  then 
added:  "How  did  we  get  away  from  'em?" 

"W7ent  into  the  brush  an'  doubled  back  to  the 
river.  I'm  goin'  to  hunt  a  place  where  we  can  lie 
hid  for  a  few  days." 

"Oh,  I'll  be  all  right  by  mornin'.  Did  I  fall  off 
my  hawss?" 

"Yes.  I  had  to  turn  your  sorrel  loose.  Soon  as 
I  've  picked  a  permanent  camp  I  '11  have  to  let  mine 


102  A  Man  Four-Square 

go  too.   Some  one  would  be  sure  to  stumble  on  it 
an'  go  to  gues.sin'." 

: After  a  moment' the  sick  man  spoke  quietly. 
"You're  a  good  pal,  Billie.  I  have  n't  known  many 
men  would  take  a  long  chance  like  this  for  a  fellow 
they  had  n't  met  a  month  ago." 

"I'm  not  forgettin'  how  you  rode  up  Escondido 
when  I  asked  you  to  go." 

"You  got  a  lot  of  sabe,  too.  You  don't  go  bullin' 
into  a  fight  when  there's  a  good  reason  for  stayin' 
out.  At  Tolleson's  if  you  had  drawn  yore  gun  when 
the  shootin'  was  on,  the  whole  Lazy  S  M  would 
have  pitched  in  an'  riddled  us  both.  They  kept  out 
because  you  did.  That  gave  me  a  chance  to  come 
through  alive." 

The  Texan  registered  embarrassment  with  a 
grin.  "Yes,  I'm  the  boy  wonder  of  the  Brazos," 
he  admitted. 

A  faint,  unexpected  gleam  of  humor  lay  for  a 
moment  in  the  eyes  of  the  sick  man.  "I  got  you 
where  the  wool 's  short,  Billie.  I  can  throw  bouquets 
at  you  an'  you  got  to  stand  hitched  because  I'm 
sick.  Doc  says  to  humor  me.  If  I  holler  for  the 
moon  you  climb  up  an'  get  it." 

"I'll  rope  it  for  you,"  assented  the  cowpuncher. 
"How's  the  game  shoulder?" 

"Hurts  like  Heligoland.  Say,  ain't  I  due  for  one 
of  them  sleep  powders  Doc  fixed  up  so  careful?" 

His  companion  gave  him  one,  after  which  he 
folded  his  coat  and  put  it  under  the  head  of  Clanton. 
Over  him  he  threw  a  saddle  blanket. 

"Back  soon,"  he  promised. 


A  Man  Four-Square  103 

The  sick  man  nodded  weakly. 

Billie  swung  to  the  saddle  and  turned  down  the 
river.  Unfortunately  the  country  here  was  an  open 
one.  Along  the  sandy  shore  of  the  stream  the  mes- 
quite  was  thin.  There  was  no  soap  weed  and  very 
little  cactus.  The  terrain  of  the  hill  country  farther 
back  was  rougher,  more  full  of  pockets,  and  covered 
with  heavier  brush.  But  it  was  necessary  for  the 
fugitives  to  remain  close  to  water. 

What  Prince  hoped  to  find  was  some  sort  of  cave 
or  overhanging  ledge  of  shale  under  which  they 
could  lie  hidden  until  Jim's  strength  returned  suffi- 
ciently to  permit  of  travel.  The  problem  would  be 
at  best  a  difficult  one.  They  had  little  food,  scarce 
dared  light  a  fire,  and  Clanton  was  in  no  condition 
to  stand  exposure  .in  case  the  weather  grew  bad. 
Even  if  the  boy  weathered  the  sickness,  it  would 
not  be  possible  for  him  to  walk  hundreds  of  miles 
in  his  weakened  condition.  But  this  was  a  matter 
which  did  not  press  for  an  answer.  Billie  intended 
to  cross  no  bridges  until  he  came  to  them.  Just  now 
he  must  focus  his  mind  on  keeping  the  wounded 
man  alive  and  out  of  the  hands  of  his  enemies. 

Beyond  a  bend  he  came  upon  a  jutting  bank 
that  for  lack  of  better  might  serve  his  purpose.  He 
could  scoop  out  a  cave  in  which  his  partner  might 
lie  protected  from  the  hot  midday  sun.  If  he  filled 
the  mouth  with  tumble  weeds  during  the  day  they 
might  escape  observation  for  a  time. 

When  the  Texan  returned  to  his  friend,  he  found 
him  in  restless  slumber.  He  tossed  to  and  fro,  mut- 
tering snatches  of  iiHsoherent  talk.    The  wound 


104  A  Man  Four-Square 

seemed  to  pain  him  even  in  his  sleep,  for  he  moved 
impatiently  as  though  trying  to  throw  off  some 
weight  lying  heavy  upon  it. 

But  when  he  awoke  his  mind  was  apparently 
clear.  He  met  Billie's  anxious  look  with  a  faint, 
white-lipped  smile.  To  his  friend  the  young  fellow 
had  the  signs  of  a  very  sick  man.  It  was  a  debat- 
able question  whether  to  risk  moving  him  now  or 
take  the  almost  hopeless  chance  of  escaping  detec- 
tion where  they  were. 

Prince  put  the  decision'on  Jim  himself.  The  an- 
swer came  feebly,  but  promptly. 

"Sure,  move  me.  What's  one  little  —  bullet  m 
the  shoulder,  Billie?  Gimme  some  sleep  —  an'  I'll 
be  up  an'  kickin'." 

Yet  the  older  man  noticed  that  his  white  lips 
could  scarcely  find  strength  to  make  the  indomi- 
table boast. 

Very  gently  Billie  lifted  the  wounded  man  and 
put  him  on  the  back  of  the  cowpony.  He  held  him 
there  and  guided  the  animal  through  the  sand  to 
the  bend.  Clanton  hung  on  with  clenched  teeth, 
calling  on  the  last  ounce  of  power  in  his  exhausted 
body  with  his  strong  will. 

"Just  a  hundred  yards  more,"  urged  the  walk- 
ing man  as  they  rounded  the  bend.  "We're  'most 
there  now." 

He  lifted  the  slack  body  down  and  put  it  in  the 
sand.  The  hands  of  the  boy  were  ice  cold.  The  sap 
of  life  was  low  in  him.  Prince  covered  him  with  the 
blankets  and  his  coat.  He  gave  him  a  sup  or  two 
of  whiskey,  then  gathered  buffalo  chips  and  made 


A  Man  Four-Square  105 

a  fire  in  which  he  heated  some  large  rocks.  These 
he  tucked  in  beneath  the  blankets  beside  the  shiv- 
ering body.  Slowly  the  heat  warmed  the  invalid. 
After  a  time  he  fell  once  more  into  troubled  sleep. 

Billie  drove  his  horse  away  and  pelted  it  with 
stones  to  a  trot.  He  could  not  keep  it  with  him 
without  risking  discovery,  but  he  was  almost  as 
much  afraid  that  its  arrival  in  Los  Portales  might 
start  a  search  for  the  hidden  fugitives.  There  was 
always  a  chance,  of  course,  that  the  bay  would  stop 
to  graze  on  the  plains  and  not  be  found  for  a  day 
or  two. 

The  rest  of  the  night  the  Texan  put  in  digging  a 
cave  with  a  piece  of  slaty  shale.  The  clay  of  the 
bank  was  soft  and  he  made  fair  progress.  The  dirt 
he  scooped  out  was  thrown  by  him  into  the  river. 


Chapter  XII 

.The  Good  Samaritan 

A  girl  astride  a  buckskin  pony  rode  down  to  the 
river  to  water  her  mount.  She  carried  across  the 
pommel  of  her  saddle  a  small  rifle.  Hanging  from 
the  cantle  strings  was  a  wild  turkey  she  had  shot. 

It  was  getting  along  toward  evening  and  she  was 
on  her  way  back  to  Los  Portales.  The  girl  was  a 
lover  of  the  outdoors  and  she  had  been  hunting 
alone.  In  the  clear,  amber  light  of  afternoon  the 
smoke  of  the  town  rose  high  into  the  sky,  though 
the  trading  post  itself  could  not  be  seen  until  she 
rounded  the  bend. 

As  her  horse  drank,  a  strange  thing  happened. 
At  a  point  directly  opposite  her  a  bunch  of  tum- 
ble weeds  had  gathered  against  the  bank  of  the 
shrunken  stream.  Something  agitated  them,  and 
from  among  the  brush  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a 
man  projected. 

Without  an  instant  of  delay  the  girl  slipped  from 
the  pony  and  led  it  behind  a  clump  of  mesquite. 
Through  this  she  peered  intently,  watching  every 
move  of  the  man,  who  had  by  this  time  come  out 
into  the  open.  He  went  down  to  the  river,  filled 
his  hat  with  water,  and  disappeared  among  the 
tumble  weeds,  gathering  them  closely  to  conceal 
the  entrance  of  his  cave. 

The  young  woman  remounted,  rode  downstream 
an  eighth  of  a  mile,  splashed  through  to  the  other 


A  Man  Four-Square  107 

side,  and  tied  her  pony  to  a  stunted  live-oak.  Rifle 
in  hand  she  crept  cautiously  along  the  bank  and 
came  to  a  halt  behind  a  cottonwood  thirty  yards 
from  the  cave.  Here  she  waited,  patiently,  silently, 
as  many  a  time  she  had  done  while  stalking  the 
game  she  was  used  to  hunting. 

The  minutes  passed,  ran  into  an  hour.  The 
westering  sun  slid  down  close  to  the  horizon's  edge. 
Still  the  girl  held  her  vigil.  At  last  the  brush  moved 
once  more  and  the  man  reappeared.  His  glance 
swept  the  landscape,  the  river-bank,  the  opposite 
shore.  Apparently  satisfied,  he  came  out  from  his 
hiding-place,  and  began  to  gather  brush  for  a  fire. 

He  was  stooped,  his  back  toward  her,  when  the 
voice  of  the  girl  startled  him  to  rigidity. 

"Hands  in  the  air!" 

He  did  not  at  once  obey.  His  head  turned  to  see 
who  this  Amazon  might  be. 

"Can't  you  hear?  Reach  for  the  sky!"  she  or- 
dered sharply. 

She  had  risen  and  stepped  from  behind  the  tree. 
He  could  see  that  she  was  dark,  of  a  full,  fine  figure, 
and  that  her  steady  black  eyes  watched  him  with- 
out the  least  fear.  The  rifle  in  her  hands  covered 
him  very  steadily. 

His  hands  went  up,  but  he  could  not  keep  a  little, 
sardonic  smile  from  his  face.  The  young  woman 
lowered  the  rifle  from  her  shoulder  and  moved 
warily  forward. 

"Lie  down  on  the  sand,  face  to  the  ground,  hands 
outstretched!"  came  her  next  command. 

Billie  did  as  he  was  told.  A  little  tug  at  his  side 


108  A  Man  Four-Square 

gave  notice  to  him  that  she  had  deftly  removed  his 
revolver. 

"Sit  up!" 

The  cowpuncher  sat  up  and  took  notice.  Stars 
of  excitement  snapped  in  the  eyes  of  this  very  com- 
petent young  woman.  The  color  beat  warmly 
through  her  dark  skin.  She  was  very  well  worth 
looking  at. 

"What's  your  name?"  she  demanded. 

"My  road  brand  is  Billie  Prince,"  he  answered. 

"Thought  so.  Where's  the  other  man?" 

He  nodded  toward  the  cave. 

"Call  him  out,"  she  said  curtly. 

"I  hate  to  wake  him.  He's  been  wounded.  All 
day  he's  been  in  a  high  fever  and  he's  asleep  at 
last." 

For  the  first  time  her  confidence  seemed  a  little 
shaken.  She  hesitated.   "Is  he  badly  hurt?" 

"He'd  get  well  if  he  could  have  proper  attention, 
but  a  wounded  man  can't  stand  to  be  jolted  around 
the  way  he's  been  since  he  was  shot." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  think  he 's  going  to  die?  " 

"I  don't  know."  After  a  moment  he  added: 
"He's  mighty  sick." 

"He  ought  never  to  have  left  town." 

"Ought  n't  he?"  said  Prince  dryly.  "If  you'll  in- 
quire you'll  find  we  had  a  good  reason  for  leavin'." 

"Well,  you're  going  to  have  another  good  reason 
for  going  back,"  she  told  him  crisply.  "I'll  send  a 
buckboard  for  him." 

"Aren't  you  takin'  a  heap  of  trouble  on  our 
account?  "  he  inquired  ironically. 


A  Man  Four-Square  109 

"That's  my  business." 

"And  mine.  Are  you  the  sheriff  of  Washington 
County,  ma'am?" 

A  pulse  of  anger  beat  in  her  throat.  Her  long- 
lashed  eyes  flashed  imperiously  at  him.  "It  does  n't 
matter  who  I  am.  You'll  march  to  town  in  front 
of  my  horse." 

"Maybe  so." 

The  voice  of  the  sick  man  began  to  babble  queru- 
lously. Both  of  those  outside  listened. 

"He's  awake,"  the  girl  said.  "Bring  him  out 
here  and  let  me  see  him." 

Billie  had  an  instinct  that  sometimes  served  him 
well.   He  rose  promptly. 

" Para  sirvir  usted  "  ("At  your  service ") ,  he  mur- 
mured. 

"Don't  try  to  start  anything.  I'll  have  you  cov- 
ered every  second." 

"  I  believe  you.  It  won't  be  necessary  to  demon- 
strate, ma'am." 

The  cowpuncher  carried  his  friend  out  from  the 
cave  and  put  him  down  gently  in  the  sand. 

"Why,  he's  only  a  boy!"  she  cried  in  surprise. 

"He  was  man  enough  to  go  up  against  half  a 
dozen  'Paches  alone  to  save  Pauline  Roubideau," 
Billie  said  simply. 

She  looked  up  with  quick  interest.  "I've  heard 
that  story.   Is  it  true?" 

"It's  true.  And  he  was  man  enough  to  fight  it 
out  to  a  finish  against  two  bad  men  yesterday." 

"But  he  can't  be  more  than  eighteen."  She 
vatehed  for  a  moment  the  flush  of  fever  in  his  soft 


110  A  Man  Four-Square 

cheeks.  "  Did  he  really  kill  Dave  and  Hugh  Boush? 
Or  was  it  you?" 

"He  did  it." 

"I  hate  a  killer!"  she  blazed  unexpectedly. 

"Does  he  look  like  a  killer?  "  asked  Prince  gently. 

"No,  he  does  n't.   That  makes  it  worse." 

"Did  you  know  that  Dave  Roush  ruined  his  sis- 
ter's life  in  a  fiendish  way?" 

"I  expect  there's  another  side  to  that  story,"  she 
retorted. 

"This  boy  was  fourteen  at  the  time.  His  father 
swore  him  to  vengeance  an'  Jim  followed  his  ene- 
mies for  years.  He  never  had  a  doubt  but  that  he 
was  doin'  right." 

She  put  her  rifle  down  impulsively.  "Why  don't 
you  keep  his  face  sponged?  Bring  me  water." 

The  Texan  put  his  hat  into  requisition  again  for 
a  bucket.  With  her  handkerchief  the  girl  sponged 
the  face  and  the  hands.  The  cold  water  stopped 
for  a  moment  the  delirious  muttering  of  the  young 
man.  But  the  big  eyes  that  stared  into  hers  did  not 
associate  his  nurse  with  the  present. 

"I  done  remembered  you,  'Lindy,  like  I  promised. 
I'm  a-followin'  them  scalawags  yet,"  he  murmured. 

"His  sister's  name  was  Melindy,"  explained 
Prince. 

The  girl  nodded.  She  was  rubbing  gently  the 
boy's  wrist  with  her  wet  handkerchief. 

"It's  getting  dark,"  she  told  Billie  in  her  sharp, 
decisive  way.  "  Get  your  fire  lit  —  a  big  one.  I  've 
got  some  cooking  to  do." 

Further  orders  were  waiting  for  him  as  soon  as 


A  Man  Four-Square  ill 

he  had  the  camp-fire  going.  "You'll  find  my  horse 
tied  to  a  live-oak  down  the  river  a  bit.  Bring  it 

up-". . 

Billie  smiled  as  he  moved  away  into  the  darkness. 
This  imperious  girl  belonged,  of  course,  in  the  camp 
of  the  enemy.  She  had  held  him  up  with  the  in- 
tention of  driving  them  back  to  town  before  her 
in  triumph.  But  she  was,  after  all,  a  very  tender- 
hearted foe  to  a  man  stricken  with  sickness.  It 
occurred  to  the  Texan  that  through  her  might  lie 
a  way  of  salvation  for  them  both. 

Until  he  saw  the  turkey  the  cowpuncher  won- 
dered what  cooking  she  could  have  in  mind,  but 
while  he  cantered  back  through  the  sand  he  guessed 
what  she  meant  to  do. 

"Draw  the  turkey.  Don't  pick  it,"  she  gave 
instructions.  Her  own  hands  were  busy  trying  to 
make  her  patient  comfortable. 

After  he  had  drawn  the  bird,  which  was  a  young, 
plump  one,  he  made  under  direction  of  the  young 
woman  a  cement  of  mud.  This  he  daubed  in  a 
three-inch  coating  over  the  turkey,  then  prepared 
the  fire  to  make  of  it  an  oven.  He  covered  the  bird 
with  ashes,  raked  live  coals  over  these,  and  piled 
upon  the  red-hot  coals  pinon  knots  and  juniper 
boughs. 

"Keep  your  fire  going  till  about  two  or  three 
o'clock,  then  let  it  die  out.  In  the  morning  the 
turkey  will  be  baked,"  the  young  Diana  gave  as- 
surance. 

The  cowpuncher  omitted  to  tell  her  that  he  had 
baked  a  dozen  more  or  less  and  knew  all  about  it. 


112  A  Man  Four-Square 

She  rose  and  drew  on  her  gauntlets  in  a  business- 
like manner. 

"I'm  going  home  now.  After  the  fever  passes 
keep  him  warm  and  let  him  sleep  if  he  will." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  promised  Billie  with  suspicious 
meekness. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  sharply,  as  if  she  dis- 
trusted his  humility.  Was  he  laughing  at  her?  Did 
he  dare  to  find  amusement  in  her? 

"I  have  n't  changed  my  mind  about  you.  Folks 
that  come  to  town  and  start  killing  deserve  all  they 
get.  But  I'd  look  after  a  yellow  dog  if  it  was  sick," 
she  said  contemptuously,  little  devils  of  defiance  in 
her  eyes. 

"I'm  not  questionin'  your  motives,  ma'am,  so 
long  as  your  actions  are  friendly." 

"I  haven't  any  use  for  any  of  Homer  Webb's 
outfit.  He's  got  no  business  here.  If  he  runs  into 
trouble  he  has  only  himself  to  blame." 

"I'll  mention  to  him  that  you  said  so." 

Picking  up  the  rifle,  she  turned  and  walked  to  the 
horse.  There  was  a  little  devil-may-care  touch  to 
her  walk,  just  as  in  her  manner,  that  suggested  a 
girl  spoiled  by  over-much  indulgence.  She  was  im- 
perious, high-spirited,  full  of  courage  and  insolence, 
because  her  environment  had  moulded  her  to  inde- 
pendence. It  was  impossible  for  the  young  cow 
puncher  to  help  admiring  the  girl. 

"I'll  be  back,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder. 

The  pony  jumped  to  a  canter  at  the  touch  of  her 
heel.  She  disappeared  in  a  gallop  around  the  bend. 

Already  the  fever  of  the  boy  was  beginning  to 


A  Man  Four-Square  113 

pass.  He  shivered  with  the  chill  of  night.  Billie 
wrapped  around  him  his  own  coat,  a  linsey-woolen 
one  lined  with  yellow  flannel.  He  packed  him  up 
in  the  two  blankets  and  heated  stones  for  his  feet 
and  hands.  Presently  the  boy  fell  into  sound  sleep 
for  the  first  time  since  he  was  wounded.  He  had 
slept  before,  but  always  uneasily  and  restlessly. 
Now  he  did  not  mutter  between  clenched  teeth  nor 
toss  to  and  fro. 

His  friend  accepted  it  as  a  good  omen.  Since  he 
had  not  slept  a  wink  himself  for  forty  hours,  he  lay 
down  before  the  fire  and  made  himself  comfortable 
His  eyes  closed  almost  immediately. 


Chapter  XIII 

A  Friendly  Enemy 

"Law  sakes,  Miss  Bertie  Lee,  yo'  suppah  done  been 
ready  an  hour.  Hit  sure  am  discommodin'  the  way 
you  go  gallumphin'  around.  Don't  you-all  nevah 
git  tired?" 

Aunt  Becky  was  large  and  black  and  bulgy.  To 
say  that  she  was  fat  fails  entirely  of  doing  her  jus- 
tice. She  overflowed  from  her  clothes  in  waves  at 
all  possible  points.  When  she  moved  she  waddled. 

Just  now  she  was  trying  to  be  cross,  but  the  smile 
of  welcome  on  the  broad  face  would  have  its  way. 

"Set  down  an'  rest  yo'  weary  bones,  honey.  I'll 
have  yo'  suppah  dished  up  in  no  time  a-tall.  Yore 
paw  was  axin'  where  is  you  awhile  ago." 

"Where's  dad?"  asked  Miss  Bertie  Lee  Snaith 
carelessly  as  she  flung  her  gloves  on  a  chair. 

"He  done  gone  down  to  the  store  to  see  if  any- 
thing been  heerd  o'  them  vilyainous  killers  of  Mr. 
Webb." 

When  Bertie  Lee  returned  from  washing  her 
hands  and  face  and  giving  a  touch  or  two  to  her 
hair,  she  sat  down  and  did  justice  to  the  fried 
chicken  and  biscuits  of  Aunt  Becky.  She  had  had  a 
long  day  of  it  and  she  ate  with  the  keen  appetite 
of  youth. 

Her  father  returned  while  she  was  still  at  the 
table.  He  was  a  big  sandy  man  dressed  in  a  cor- 


A  Man  Four-Square  115 

duroy  suit.  He  was  broad  of  shoulder  and  his  legs 
were  bowed. 

"Any  news,  dad?"  she  asked. 

"Not  a  thing,  Lee.  I  reckon  they've  made  their 
get-away.  They  must  have  slipped  off  the  road 
somewhere.  The  wounded  one  never  could  have 
traveled  all  night.  Maybe  we'll  git  'em  yet." 

"What  will  you  do  with  them,  if  you  do?" 

"Hang  'em  to  a  sour  apple  tree,"  answered  Wal- 
lace Snaith  promptly. 

His  daughter  made  no  comment.  She  knew  that 
her  father's  resentment  was  based  on  no  abstract 
love  of  law  and  order.  It  had  back  of  it  no  feeling 
that  crime  had  been  committed  or  justice  outraged. 
The  frontier  was  in  its  roistering  youth,  full  of  such 
effervescing  spirits  that  life  was  the  cheapest  thing 
it  knew.  Every  few  days  some  unfortunate  was 
buried  on  Boot  Hill,  a  victim  of  his  own  inexpert- 
ness  with  the  six-shooter.  The  longhorned  cattle 
of  Texas  were  wearing  broad  trails  to  the  north 
and  the  northwest  and  such  towns  as  Los  Portales 
were  on  the  boom.  Chap-clad  punchers  galloped 
through  the  streets  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and 
night  letting  out  their  joyous  "Eee-yip-eee."  The 
keys  of  Tolleson's  and  half  a  dozen  other  gambling 
places  had  long  since  been  lost,  for  the  doors  were 
never  closed  to  patrons.  At  games  of  chance  the 
roof  was  the  limit,  in  the  expressive  phrase  of  the 
country.  Guns  cracked  at  the  slightest  difference 
of  opinion.  It  was  bad  form  to  use  the  word  "mur- 
der." The  correct  way  to  speak  of  the  result  of  a 
disagreement  was  to  refer  to  it  as  "a  killing." 


116  A  Man  Four-Square 

Law  lay  for  every  man  in  a  holster  on  his  own 
Ship.  Snaith  recognized  this  and  accepted  it.  He 
was  ready  to  "bend  a  gun"  himself  if  occasion 
called  for  it.  What  he  objected  to  in  this  particular 
killing  was  the  personal  affront  to  him.  One  of 
Webb's  men  had  deliberately  and  defiantly  killed 
two  of  his  riders  when  the  town  was  full  of  his 
employees.  The  man  had  walked  into  Tolleson's  — 
a  place  which  he,  Snaith,  practically  owned  him- 
self—  and  flung  down  the  gauntlet  to  the  whole 
Lazy  S  M  outfit.  It  was  a  flagrant  insult  and 
Wallace  Snaith  proposed  to  see  that  it  was  avenged. 

"I'm  going  duck-hunting  to-morrow,  dad,"  Lee 
told  him.  "I'll  likely  be  up  before  daylight,  but 
I  '11  try  not  to  disturb  you.  If  you  hear  me  rummag- 
ing around  in  the  pantry,  you'll  know  what  for." 

He  grunted  assent,  full  of  the  grievance  that  was 
rankling  in  his  mind.  Lee  came  and  went  as  she 
pleased.  She  was  her  own  mistress  and  he  made  no 
attempt  to  chaperon  her  activities. 

The  light  had  not  yet  begun  to  sift  into  the  sky 
next  morning  when  Lee  dressed  and  tiptoed  to  the 
kitchen.  She  carried  saddlebags  with  her  and  into 
the  capacious  pockets  went  tea,  coffee,  flour,  corn 
meal,  a  flask  of  brandy,  a  plate  of  cookies,  and  a 
slab  of  bacon.  An  old  frying-pan  and  a  small  stew 
kettle  joined  the  supplies;  also  a  little  package  of 
"verb"  medicine  prepared  by  Aunt  Becky  as  a 
specific  for  fevers. 

Lee  walked  through  the  silent,  pre-dawn  dark- 
ness to  the  stable  and  saddled  her  pony,  blanketing 
and  cinching  as  deftly  as  her  father  could  have 


A  Man  Four-Square  117 

done  it.  With  her  she  carried  an  extra  blanket  for 
the  wounded  man. 

The  gray  light  of  dawn  was  beginning  to  sift  into 
the  sky  when  she  reached  the  camp  of  the  fugitives. 
Prince  came  forward  to  meet  her.  She  saw  that  the 
fire  was  now  only  a  bed  of  coals  from  which  no 
smoke  would  rise  to  betray  them. 

The  girl  swung  from  the  saddle  and  gave  a  little 
jerk  of  her  head  toward  Clanton. 

"How  is  he?" 

"Slept  like  a  log  all  night.  Feels  a  heap  better 
this  mo'nin'.  Wants  to  know  if  he  can't  have 
somethin'  to  eat." 

"I  killed  a  couple  of  prairie  plover  on  the  way. 
We'll  make  some  soup  for  him." 

The  girl  walked  straight  to  her  patient  and 
looked  down  at  him  with  direct  and  searching  eyes. 
She  found  no  glaze  of  fever  in  the  ones  that  gazed 
back  into  hers. 

"Hungry,  are  you?" 

"I  could  eat  a  mail  sack,  ma'am." 

She  stripped  the  gauntlets  from  her  hands  and 
set  about  making  breakfast.  Jim  watched  her  with 
alert  interest.  He  was  still  weak,  but  life  this 
morning  began  to  renew  itself  in  him.  The  pain 
and  the  fever  had  gone  and  left  him  at  peace  with 
a  world  just  emerging  from  darkness  into  a  rosily 
flushed  dawn.  Not  the  least  attractive  feature  of 
it  was  this  stunning,  dark-eyed  girl  who  was  prov- 
ing such  a  friendly  enemy. 

Her  manner  to  Billie  was  crisp  and  curt.  She 
ordered  him  to  fetch  and  carry.   Something  in  his 


118  A  Man  Four-Square 

slow  drawl  —  some  hint  of  hidden  amusement  ir 
his  manner — struck  a  spark  of  resentment  from 
her  quick  eye.  But  toward  Jim  she  was  all  kindness. 
No  trouble  was  too  much  to  take  for  his  comfort. 
If  he  had  a  whim  it  must  be  gratified.  Prince  was 
merely  a  servant  to  wait  upon  him. 

The  education  of  Jim  Clanton  was  progressing. 
As  he  ate  his  plover  broth  he  could  not  keep  his 
eyes  from  her.  She  was  so  full  of  vital  life.  The 
color  beat  through  her  dark  skin  warm  and  rich. 
The  abundant  blue-black  hair,  the  flashing  eyes, 
the  fine  poise  of  the  head,  the  little  jaunty  swagger 
of  her,  so  wholly  a  matter  of  unconscious  faith  in 
her  place  in  the  sun:  all  of  these  charmed  and 
delighted  him.  He  had  never  dreamed  of  a  girl  of 
such  spirit  and  fire. 

It  was  inevitable  that  both  he  and  Billie  should 
recall  by  contrast  another  girl  who  had  given  them 
generously  of  her  service  not  long  since.  There 
were  in  the  country  then  very  few  women  of  any 
kind.  Certainly  within  a  radius  of  two  hundred 
miles  there  was  no  other  girl  so  popular  and  so 
attractive  as  these  two.  Many  a  puncher  would 
have  been  willing  to  break  an  arm  for  the  sake  of 
such  kindness  as  had  been  lavished  upon  these 
boys. 

By  sunup  the  three  of  them  had  finished  break- 
fast. Billie  put  out  the  fire  and  scattered  the  ashes 
in  the  river.  He  went  into  a  committee  of  ways  and 
means  with  Lee  Snaith  just  before  she  returned  to 
town. 

"You  can't  stay  here  long.  Some  one  is  sure  to 


A  Man  Four-Square  119 

stumble  on  you  just  as  I  did.  What  plan  have  you 
to  get  away?" 

"If  I  could  get  our  horses  in  three  or  four  days 
mebbe  Jim  could  make  out  to  ride  a  little  at  a 
time." 

"He  could  n't —  and  you  can't  get  your  horses," 
she  vetoed. 

"Then  I '11  have  to  leave  him,  steal  another  horse, 
and  ride  through  to  Webb  for  help." 

"No.  You  must  n't  leave  him.  I'll  see  if  I  can 
get  a  man  to  take  a  message  to  your  friends." 

A  smile  came  out  on  his  lean,  strong  face. 
"You're  a  good  friend."    • 

"I'm  no  friend  of  yours,"  she  flashed  back. 
"But  I  won't  have  my  father  spoiling  the  view  by 
hanging  you  where  I  might  see  you  when  I  ride." 

"You're  Wallace  Snaith's  daughter,  I  reckon." 

"Yes.  And  no  man  that  rides  for  Homer  Webb 
can  be  a  friend  of  mine." 

"Sorry.  Anyhow,  you  can't  keep  me  from  being 
mighty  grateful  to  my  littlest  enemy." 

He  did  not  intend  to  smile,  but  just  a  hint  of  it 
leaped  to  his  eyes.  She  flushed  angrily,  suspect- 
ing that  he  was  mocking  her,  and  swung  her  pony 
toward  town. 

On  the  way  she  shot  a  brace  of  ducks  for  the 
sake  of  appearances.  The  country  was  a  paradise 
for  the  hunter.  On  the  river  could  be  found  great 
numbers  of  ducks,  geese,  swans,  and  pelicans.  Of 
quail  and  prairie  chicken  there  was  no  limit.  Thou- 
sands of  turkeys  roosted  in  the  timber  that  bor- 
dered the  streams.    There  were  times  when  the 


120  A  Man  Four-Square 

noise  of  pigeons  returning  to  their  night  haunt  was 
like  thunder  and  the  sight  of  them  almost  hid  the 
sky.  Bands  of  antelope  could  be  seen  silhouetted 
against  the  skyline.  As  for  buffalo,  numbers  of 
them  still  ranged  the  plains,  though  the  day  of 
their  extinction  was  close  at  hand.  No  country  in 
the  world's  history  ever  offered  such  a  field  for  the 
sportsman  as  the  Southwest  did  in  the  days  of  the 
first  great  cattle  drives. 

Miss  Bertie  Lee  dismounted  at  a  store  which 
bore  the  sign 

SNAITH  &  McROBERT 
General  Merchandise 

Though  a  large  building,  it  was  not  one  of  the  most 
recent  in  town.  It  was  what  is  known  as  a  "dug- 
out" in  the  West,  a  big  cellar  roofed  over,  with  side 
walls  rising  above  the  level  of  the  ground.  In  a 
country  where  timber  was  scarce  and  the  railroad 
was  not  within  two  hundred  miles,  a  sod  structure 
of  this  sort  was  the  most  practicable  possible. 

The  girl  sauntered  in  and  glanced  carelessly  about 
her.  Two  or  three  chap-clad  cowboys  were  lounging 
against  the  counter  watching  another  buy  a  suit  of 
clothes.  The  wide-brimmed  hats  of  all  of^them  came 
off  instantly  at  sight  of  her.  The  frontier  was  ram- 
pantly lawless,  but  nowhere  in  the  world  did  a  good 
woman  meet  with  more  unquestioning  respect. 

"What's  this  hyer  garment?"  asked  the  brick- 
red  customer  of  the  clerk,  holding  up  the  waistcoat 
that  went  with  the  suit. 


A  Man  Four-Square  121 

"That's  a  vest,"  explained  the  salesman.  "You 
wear  it  under  the  coat." 

"You  don't  say!"  The  vaquero  examined  the 
article  curiously  and  disdainfully.  "I've  heard  tell 
of  these  didoes,  but  I  never  did  see  one  before. 
Well,  I  '11  take  this  suit.  Wrop  it  up.  You  keep  the 
vest  proposition  and  give  it  to  a  tenderfoot." 

No  cowpuncher  ever  wore  a  waistcoat.  The  local 
dealers  of  the  Southwest  had  been  utterly  unable 
to  impress  this  fact  upon  the  mind  of  the  Eastern 
manufacturer.  The  result  was  that  every  suit  came 
in  three  parts,  one  of  which  always  remained  upon 
the  shelf  of  the  store.  Some  of  the  supply  merchants 
had  several  thousand  of  these  articles  de  luxe  in 
their  stock.  In  later  years  they  gave  them  away  to 
Indians  and  Mexicans. 

"Do  you  know  where  Jack  Goodheart  is?"  asked 
Lee  of  the  nearest  youth. 

"No,  ma'am,  but  I'll  go  hunt  him  for  you,"  an- 
swered the  puncher  promptly. 

"Thank  you." 

Ten  minutes  later  a  bronzed  rider  swung  down 
in  front  of  the  Snaith  home.  Miss  Bertie  Lee  was 
on  the  porch. 

"You  sent  for  me,"  he  said  simply. 

"Do  you  want  to  do  something  for  me?" 

"Try  me." 

"Will  you  ride  after  Webb's  outfit  and  tell  him 
that  two  of  his  men  are  in  hiding  on  the  river  just 
below  town.  One  of  them  is  wounded  and  can't  sit 
a  horse.  So  he  'd  better  send  a  buckboard  for  him. 
Let  Homer  Webb  know  that  if  dad  or  Sanders  finds 


122  A  Man  Four-Square 

these  men,  the  cottonwoods  will  be  bearing  a  new 
kind  of  fruit.  Tell  him  to  burn  the  wind  getting 
here.  The  men  are  in  a  cave  on  the  left-hand  side 
of  the  river  going  down.  It  is  just  below  the  bend." 

Jack  Goodheart  did  not  ask  her  how  she  knew 
this  or  what  difference  it  made  to  her  whether  Webb 
rescued  his  riders  or  not.  He  said,  "I'll  be  on  the 
road  inside  of  twenty  minutes." 

Goodheart  was  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  fron- 
tiersman. He  was  the  best  roper  in  the  country, 
of  proved  gameness,  popular,  keen  as  an  Italian 
stiletto,  and  absolutely  trustworthy.  Since  the 
first  day  he  had  seen  her  Jack  had  been  devoted  to 
the  service  of  Bertie  Lee  Snaith.  No  dog  could  have 
been  humbler  or  less  critical  of  her  shortcomings. 
The  girl  despised  his  wooing,  but  she  was  forced  to 
respect  the  man.  As  a  lover  she  had  no  use  for 
Goodheart;  as  a  friend  she  was  always  calling  upon 
him. 

"I  knew  you'd  go,  Jack,"  she  told  him. 

"Yes,  I'd  lie  down  and  make  of  myself  a  door- 
mat for  you  to  tromple  on,"  he  retorted  with  a 
touch  of  self -contempt.  "Would  you  like  me  to  do 
it  now?" 

Lee  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  This  was  the  first 
evidence  he  had  ever  given  that  he  resented  the 
position  in  which  he  stood  to  her. 

"If  you  don't  want  to  go  I'll  ask  some  one  else," 
she  replied. 

"Oh,  I'll  go." 

He  turned  and  strode  to  his  horse.  For  years  he 
had  been  her  faithful  cavalier  and  he  knew  he  was 


A  Man  Four-Square  123 

no  closer  to  his  heart's  desire  than  when  he  began 
to  serve.  The  first  faint  stirrings  of  rebellion  were 
moving  in  him.  It  was  not  that  he  blamed  her  iii 
the  least.  She  was  scarcely  nineteen,  the  magnet 
for  the  eyes  of  all  the  unattached  men  in  the  dis- 
trict. Was  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  she  would 
give  her  love  to  a  penniless  puncher  of  twenty- 
eight,  lank  as  a  shad,  with  no  recommendation  but 
honesty?  None  the  less,  Jack  began  to  doubt 
whether  eternal  patience  was  a  virtue. 


Chapter  XIV 

The  Gun-Barrel  Road 

Jack  Goodheart  followed  the  gun-barrel  road  into 
a  desert  green  and  beautiful  with  vegetation.  Now 
he  passed  a  blooming  azalea  or  a  yucca  with  clus- 
tering bellflowers.  The  prickly  pear  and  the  cat- 
claw  clutched  at  his  chaps.  The  arrowweed  and 
the  soapweed  were  everywhere,  as  was  also  the 
stunted  creosote.  The  details  were  not  lovely,  but 
in  the  sunset  light  of  late  afternoon  the  silvery  sheen 
of  the  mesquite  had  its  own  charm  for  the  rider. 

Back  of  the  saddle  he  carried  a  "hot  roll"  of 
blankets  and  supplies,  for  he  would  have  to  camp 
out  three  or  four  nights.  Flour,  coffee,  and  a  can 
of  tomatoes  made  the  substance  of  his  provisions. 
His  rifle  would  bring  him  all  the  meat  he  needed. 
The  one  he  used  was  a  seventy-three  because  the 
bullets  fired  from  it  fitted  the  cylinder  of  his  forty- 
four  revolver. 

Solitude  engulfed  him.  Once  a  mule  deer  stared 
at  him  in  surprise  from  an  escarpment  back  of  the 
mesa.  A  rattlesnake  buzzed  its  ominous  warning. 

He  left  the  road  to  follow  the  broad  trail  made 
by  the  Flying  V  Y  herd.  A  horizon  of  deep  purple 
marked  the  afterglow  of  sunset  and  preceded  a  des- 
ert night  of  stars.  Well  into  the  evening  he  rode, 
then  hobbled  his  horse  before  he  built  a  camp-fire. 

Darkness  was  still  thick  over  the  plains  when  he 
left  the  buffalo  wallow  in  which  he  had  camped. 


A  Man  Four-Square  i£5 

All  day  he  held  a  steady  course  northward  till  the 
stars  were  out  again.  Late  the  next  afternoon  he 
struck  the  dust  of  the  drag  in  the  ground  swells  of 
a  more  broken  country. 

The  drag-driver  directed  Goodheart  to  the  left 
point.  He  found  there  two  men.  One  of  them  — 
Dad  Wrayburn  —  he  knew.  The  other  was  a  man 
of  sandy  complexion,  hard-faced,  and  fishy  of  eye. 

"Whad  you  want?"  the  second  demanded. 

"I  want  to  see  Webb." 

"Can't  see  him.  He  ain't  here." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He's  ridden  on  to  the  Fort  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  receiving  the  herd,"  answered  the  man 
sulkily. 

"Who's  the  big  auger  left?" 

"I'm  the  foreman,  if  that's  what  you  mean?" 

"Well,  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  two  of  yore 
men  are  hidin'  in  the  chaparral  below  Los  Portales. 
There  was  trouble  at  Tolleson's.  Two  of  the  Lazy 
S  M  men  were  gunned  an'  one  of  yours  was 
wounded." 

"Which  one  was  wounded?" 

"I  heard  his  name  was  Clanton." 

"Suits  me  fine,"  grinned  the  foreman,  showing 
two  rows  of  broken,  stained  teeth.  "Hope  the  Lazy 
S  M  boys  gunned  him  proper." 

Dad  Wrayburn  broke  in  softly.  "Chieto,  com- 
padre!"  ("Hush,  partner!")  He  turned  to  Good- 
heart.  "The  other  man  with  Clanton  must  be 
Billie  Prince." 

"Yes." 


126  A  Man  Four-Square 


I  reckon  the  Lazy  S  M  boys  are  lookin'  for 


em. 


"You  guessed  right  first  crack  out  of  the  box." 

"Where  are  our  boys  holed  up?" 

"In  a  cave  the  other  side  of  town.  They  're  just 
beyond  the  big  bend  of  the  river.  I'll  take  you 
there." 

"You've  seen  'em." 

"No."  Goodheart  hesitated  just  a  moment  be- 
fore he  went  on.  "I  was  sent  by  the  person  who 
has  seen  'em." 

"Listens  to  me  like  a  plant,"  jeered  Yankie. 

"Meanin'  that  I'm  a  liar?"  asked  Goodheart 
coldly. 

"I  wasn't  born  yesterday.  Come  clean.  Who  is 
yore  friend  that  saw  the  boys?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that." 

"Then  yore  story  doesn't  interest  me  a  whole  lot." 

"Different  here,"  dissented  Wrayburn.  " Do  you 
know  how  badly  Clanton  is  hurt,  Jack?" 

"No.  He  was  able  to  ride  out  of  town,  but  my 
friend  told  me  to  say  he  was  n't  able  to  ride  now. 
You'll  have  to  send  a  wagon  for  him." 

Wrayburn  turned  to  the  foreman.  "Joe,  we've 
got  to  go  back  an'  help  the  boys." 

"Not  on  yore  topknot,  Dad.  I'm  here  to  move 
these  beeves  along  to  the  Fort.  Prince  an'  that 
Clanton  may  have  gone  on  a  tear  an'  got  into  trou- 
ble or  they  may  not.  I  don't  care  a  plugged  nickel 
which  way  it  is.  I  'm  not  keepin'  herd  on  them,  an' 
what's  more  I  don't  intend  to." 

"We  can't  leave  'em  thataway.  Dad  gum  it,  we 


A  Man  Four-Square  127 

got  to  stand  by  the  boys,  Joe.  That's  what  Webb 
would  tell  us  if  he  was  here." 

"But  he  ain't  here,  Dad.  An'  while  he's  gone 
I'm  major-domo  of  this  outfit.  We're  headed  north, 
not  south." 

"You  may  be.  I'm  not.  An' I  reckon  you '11  find 
several  of  the  boys  got  the  same  notion  I  have.  I 
taken  a  fancy  to  both  those  young  fellows,  an'  if  I 
had  n't  I'd  go  help  'em  just  the  same." 

"You  ain't  expectin'  to  ride  our  stock  on  this 
fool  chase,  are  you?" 

"I'll  ride  the  first  good  bronc  I  get  my  knees 
clamped  to,  Joe." 

"As  regards  that,  you'll  get  my  answer  like  shot 
off'n  a  shovel.  None  of  the  Flyin'  V  Y  remuda  is 
goin\" 

Wrayburn  cantered  around  the  point  of  the  herd 
to  the  swing,  from  the  swing  back  to  the  drag,  and 
then  forward  to  the  left  point.  In  the  circuit  he  had 
stopped  to  sound  out  each  rider. 

"  We-all  have  decided  that  ten  of  us  will  go  back, 
Joe,"  he  announced  serenely.  "That  leaves  enough 
to  loose-herd  the  beeves  whilst  we're  away." 

Yankie  grew  purple  with  rage.  "If  you  go  you'll 
walk.  I'll  show  you  who 's  foreman  here." 

"No  use  raisin'  a  rookus,  Joe,"  replied  the  old 
Confederate  mildly.  "We're  goin'.  Yore  authority 
does  n't  stretch  far  enough  to  hold  us  here." 

"I'll  show  you!"  stormed  the  foreman.  "Some 
of  you  will  go  to  sleep  in  smoke  if  you  try  to  take 
any  of  my  remuda." 

"Now  don't  you-all  be  onreasonable,  Joe.  We 


128  A  Man  Four-Square 

got  to  go.  Cay  n't  you  get  it  through  yore  cocoa- 
nut  that  we've  got  to  stand  by  our  pardners?" 

"That  killer  Clanton  is  no  pardner  of  mine.  I 
meant  to  burn  powder  with  him  one  of  these  days 
myself.  If  Wally  Snaith  beats  me  to  it  I'm  not 
goin'  to  wear  black,"  retorted  Yankie. 

"Sho!  The  kid's  got  good  stuff  in  him.  An'  no- 
body could  ask  for  a  squarer  pal  than  Billie  Prince. 
You  know  that  yore  own  self." 

"You  heard  what  I  said,  Dad.  The  Flyin'  V  Y 
horses  don't  take  the  back  trail  to-day,"  insisted 
the  foreman  stubbornly. 

The  wrinkled  eyes  of  Wrayburn  narrowed  a  little. 
He  looked  straight  at  Yankie. 

"Don't  get  biggety,  Joe.  I'm  not  askin'  you  or 
any  other  man  whether  I  can  ride  to  rescue  a  friend 
when  he 's  in  trouble.  You  don't  own  these  broncs, 
an'  if  you  did  we'd  take  'em  just  the  same." 

The  voice  of  Wrayburn  was  still  gentle,  but  it  no 
longer  pleaded  for  understanding.  The  words  were 
clean-cut  and  crisp. 

"I'll  show  you!"  flung  back  the  foreman  with  an 
oath. 

When  the  little  group  of  cavalry  was  gathered 
for  the  start,  Yankie,  rifle  in  hand,  barred  the  way. 
His  face  was  ugly  with  the  fury  of  his  anger. 

Dad  Wrayburn  rode  forward  in  front  of  his  party. 
"  Don't  git  promiscuous  with  that  cannon  of  yours, 
Joe.  You've  done  yore  level  best  to  keep  us  here. 
But  we're  goin'  just  the  same.  We-all  will  tell  the 
old  man  how  tender  you  was  of  his  remuda  stock. 
That  will  let  you  out." 


A  Man  Four-Square  129 

"Don't  you  come  another  step  closeter,  Dad 
Wrayburn!"  the  foreman  shouted.  "I'll  let  you 
know  who  is  boss  here." 

Wrayburn  did  not  raise  his  voice.  The  drawl  in 
it  was  just  as  pronounced,  but  every  man  present 
read  in  it  a  warning. 

"This  old  sawed-off  shotgun  of  mine  spatters 
like  hell,  Joe.  It  always  did  shoot  all  over  the 
United  States  an'  Texas." 

There  was  an  instant  of  dead  silence.  Each  man 
watched  the  other  intently,  the  one  cool  and  deter- 
mined, the  other  full  of  a  volcanic  fury.  The  cur- 
tain had  been  rung  up  for  tragedy. 

A  man  stepped  between  them,  twirling  carelessly 
a  rawhide  rope. 

"Just  a  moment,  gentlemen.  I  think  I  know  a 
way  to  settle  this  without  bloodshed."  Jack  Good- 
heart  looked  first  at  the  ex-Confederate,  then  at  the 
foreman.  He  was  still  whirling  as  if  from  absent- 
minded  habit  the  loop  of  his  reata. 

"We're  here  to  listen,  Jack.  That  would  suit  me 
down  to  the  ground,"  answered  Wrayburn. 

The  loop  of  the  lariat  snaked  forward,  whistled 
through  the  air,  dropped  over  the  head  of  Yankie, 
and  tightened  around  his  neck.  A  shot  went  wildly 
into  the  air  as  the  rifle  was  jerked  out  of  the  hands 
of  its  owner,  who  came  to  the  earth  with  sprawling 
arms.  Goodheart  ran  forward  swiftly,  made  a  dozen 
expert  passes  with  his  fingers,  and  rose  without  a 
word. 

Yankie  had  been  hog-tied  by  the  champion  roper 
of  the  Southwest. 


Chapter  XV 

Lee  Plays  a  Leading  Role 

A  man  on  horseback  clattered  up  the  street  and 
drew  up  at  the  Snaith  house.  He  was  a  sandy- 
complexioned  man  with  a  furtive-eyed,  apologetic 
manner.  Miss  Bertie  Lee  recognized  him  as  one  of 
the  company  riders  named  Dumont. 

"Is  yore  paw  home,  Miss  Lee?"  he  asked  breath- 
lessly. 

"Some  one  to  see  you,  dad,"  called  the  girl  over 
her  shoulder. 

Wallace  Snaith  sauntered  out  to  the  porch.  "  'Lo, 
Dumont!" 

"I  claim  that  hundred  dollars  reward.  I  done 
found  'em,  Mr.  Snaith." 

Lee,  about  to  enter  the  house,  stopped  in  her 
tracks. 

"Where?"  demanded  the  cattleman  jubilantly. 

"Down  the  river — hid  in  a  dugout  they  done 
built.  I'll  take  you-all  there." 

"I  knew  they  could  n't  be  far  away  when  that 
first  hawss  came  in  all  blood-stained.  Hustle  up 
four  or  five  of  the  boys,  Dumont.  Get  'em  here  on 
the  jump."  In  the  face  of  the  big  drover  could  be 
read  a  grim  elation. 

His  daughter  confronted  him.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do,  dad?" 

"None  o'  yore  business,  Lee.  You  ain't  in  this/* 
he  answered  promptly. 


A  Man  Four-Square  131 

"You're  going  out  to  kill  those  men,"  she 
charged,  white  to  the  lips. 

"They'll  git  a  trial  if  they  surrender  peaceable." 

"What  kind  of  a  trial?"  she  asked  scornfully. 
"They  know  better  than  to  surrender.  They'll 
fight." 

"That'll  suit  me  too." 

"Don't,  dad.  Don't  do  it,"  the  girl  begged. 
"They're  game  men.  They  fought  fair.  I've  made 
inquiries.  You  must  n't  kill  them  like  wolves." 

"Mustn't  I?"  he  said  stubbornly.  "I  reckon 
that's  just  what  I'm  goin'  to  do.  I'll  learn  Homer 
Webb  to  send  his  bad  men  to  Los  Portales  lookin* 
for  trouble.  He  can't  kill  my  riders  an'  get  away 
with  it." 

"You  know  he  didn't  do  that.  This  boy — • 
Clanton,  if  that's  his  name  —  had  a  feud  with  the 
Roush  family.  One  of  them  betrayed  his  sister. 
Far  as  I  can  find  out  these  Roush  brothers  were  the 
scum  of  the  earth."  Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  fast 
with  excitement. 

"Howcome  you  to  know  so  much  about  it,  girl? 
Not  that  it  makes  any  difference.  They  may  have 
been  hellhounds,  but  they  were  my  riders.  These 
gunmen  went  into  my  own  place  an'  shot  'em  down. 
They  picked  the  fight.  There's  no  manner  o'  doubt 
about  that." 

"They  did  n't  do  it  on  your  account.  I  tell  you 
there  was  an  old  feud." 

"Webb  thinks  he's  got  the  world  by  the  tail  for 
a  downhill  pull.  I'll  show  him." 

"Dad,  you're  starting  war.  Don't  you  see  that? 


132  A  Man  Four-Square 

If  you  shoot  these  men  he'll  get  back  by  killing 
some  of  yours.  And  so  it  will  go  on." 

"I  reckon.  But  I'm  not  startin'  the  war.  He  did 
that.  It  was  the  boldest  piece  of  cheek  I  ever  heard 
tell  of  —  those  two  gunmen  goin'  into  Tolleson's 
and  shootin'  up  my  riders.  They  got  to  pay  the 
price." 

Lee  cried  out  in  passionate  protest.  "  It  '11  be  just 
plain  murder,  dad.  That's  all." 

"What's  got  into  you,  girl?"  he  demanded, 
seizing  her  by  the  arms.  The  chill  of  anger  and  sus- 
picion filmed  his  light-blue  eyes.  "I  won't  stand 
for  this  kind  of  talk.  You  go  right  into  the  house 
an'  'tend  to  yore  own  knittin'.  I've  heard  about 
enough  from  you." 

He  swung  her  round  by  the  shoulders  and  gave  a 
push. 

Lee  did  not  go  to  her  room  and  fling  herself  upon 
the  bed  in  an  impotent  storm  of  tears.  She  stood 
thinking,  her  little  fists  clenched  and  her  eyes 
flashing.  Civilization  has  trained  women  to  feeble- 
ness of  purpose,  but  this  girl  stood  outside  of  con- 
ventional viewpoints.  It  was  her  habit  to  move 
directly  to  the  thing  she  wanted.  Her  decision  was 
swift,  the  action  following  upon  it  immediate. 

She  lifted  her  rifle  down  from  the  deer-horn  rack 
where  it  rested  and  buckled  the  ammunition  belt 
around  her  waist.  Swiftly  she  ran  to  the  corral, 
roped  her  bronco,  saddled  it,  and  cinched.  As  she 
galloped  away  she  saw  her  father  striding  toward 
the  stable.  His  shout  reached  her,  but  she  did  not 
wait  to  hear  what  he  wanted. 


A  Man  Four-Square  133 

The  hoofs  of  her  pony  drummed  down  the  street. 
She  flew  across  the  desert  and  struck  the  river  just 
below  town.  The  quirt  attached  to  her  wrist  rose 
and  fell.  She  made  no  allowance  for  prairie-dog 
holes,  but  went  at  racing  speed  through  the  rabbit 
weed  and  over  the  slippery  salt-grass  bumps. 

In  front  of  the  cave  she  jerked  the  horse  to  a  halt. 

"Hello,  in  there!" 

The  tumble  weeds  moved  and  the  head  of  Prince 
appeared.  He  pushed  the  brush  aside  and  came  out. 

"Buenos  tardes,  senorita.  Did  n't  know  you  were 
comin'  back  again  to-day." 

"You've  been  seen,"  she  told  him  hurriedly  as 
she  dismounted.  "Dad's  gathering  his  men.  He 
means  to  make  you  trouble." 

Billie  looked  away  in  the  direction  of  the  town. 
A  mile  or  more  away  he  saw  a  cloud  of  dust.  It  was 
moving  toward  them. 

"I  see  he  does,"  he  answered  quietly. 

"Quick!  Get  your  friend  out.  Take  my  horse." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly.  "No  use.  They  would 
see  us  an'  run  us  down.  We'll  make  a  stand  here." 

"But  you  can't  do  that.  They'll  surround  you. 
They'll  send  for  more  men  if  they  need  'em." 

"Likely.  But  Jim  couldn't  stand  such  a  ride 
even  if  there  was  a  chance  —  and  there  is  n't,  not 
with  yore  horse  carryin'  double.  We'll  hold  the 
fort,  Miss  Lee,  while  you  make  yore  get-away  into 
the  hills.  An'  thank  you  for  comin'.  We'll  never 
forget  all  you've  done  for  us  these  days." 

"I'm  not  going." 

"Notgoin'?" 


134  A  Man  Four-Square 

"I'm  going  to  stay  right  here.  They  won't  dare 
to  shoot  at  you  if  I'm  here." 

"I  never  did  see  such  a  girl  as  you,"  admitted 
Prince,  smiling  at  her.  "You  take  the  cake.  But 
we  can't  let  you  do  that  for  us.  We  can't  skulk  be- 
hind a  young  lady's  skirts  to  save  our  hides.  It's 
not  etiquette  on  the  Pecos." 

The  red  color  burned  through  her  dusky  skin. 
"I'm  not  doing  it  for  you,"  she  said  stiffly.  "It's 
dad  I'm  thinking  about.  I  don't  want  him  mixed 
up  in  such  a  business.  I  won't  have  it  either." 

"You'd  better  go  to  him  and  talk  it  over,  then." 

"No.  I  '11  stay  here.  He  would  n't  listen  to  me  a 
minute." 

Billie  was  still  patient  with  her.  "I  don't  think 
you  'd  better  stay,  Miss  Lee.  I  know  just  how  you 
Jeel.  But  there  are  a  lot  of  folks  won't  understand 
howcome  you  to  take  up  with  yore  father's  enemies. 
They'll  talk  a  lot  of  foolishness  likely." 

The  cowpuncher  blushed  at  his  own  awkward 
phrasing  of  the  situation,  yet  the  thing  had  to  be 
said  and  he  knew  no  other  way  to  say  it. 

She  flashed  a  resentful  glance  at  him.  Her  cheeks, 
too,  flamed. 

"I  don't  care  what  they  say  since  it  won't  be 
true,"  she  answered  proudly.  "You  need  n't  argue. 
I've  staked  out  a  clcdm  here." 

"I  wish  you'd  go.  There's  still  time." 

The  girl  turned  on  him  angrily  with  swift,  ani- 
mal grace.  "I  tell  you  it's  none  of  your  business 
whether  I  go  or  stay.  I'll  do  just  as  I  please." 

Prince  gave  up  his  attempt  to  change  her  mind. 


A  Man  Four-Square  135 

If  she  would  stay,  she  would.  He  set  about  arrang- 
ing the  defense. 

Young  Clanton  crept  out  to  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  and  lay  down  with  his  rifle  beside  him. 
His  friend  piled  up  the  tumble  weeds  in  front  of 
him. 

'  We're  right  enough  in  front — easy  enough  to 
stsnd  'em  off  there,"  reflected  Billie,  aloud.  "But 
I'd  like  to  know  what's  to  prevent  us  from  being 
attacked  in  the  rear.  They  can  crawl  up  through 
the  brush  till  they're  right  on  top  of  the  bank. 
They  can  post  sharpshooters  in  the  mesquite  across 
the  river  so  that  if  we  come  out  to  check  those 
snakin'  forward,  the  snipers  can  get  us." 

"I'll  sit  on  the  bank  above  the  cave  and  watch 
'em,"  annoimced  Lee. 

"An'  what  if  they  mistook  you  for  one  of  us?" 
asked  Prince  dryly. 

"They  can't,  with  me  wearing  a  red  coat." 

"You're  bound  to  be  in  this,  are  n't  you?"  His 
smile  was  more  friendly  than  the  words.  It  ad- 
mitted reluctant  admiration  of  her. 

The  party  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  was  in 
plain  sight  now.  Jim  counted  four  —  five  —  six  of 
them  as  they  deployed,.  Presently  Prince  threw  a 
bullet  into  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  one  of  the  horses 
as  they  moved  forward.  It  was  meant  as  a  warning 
not  to  come  closer  and  accepted  as  one. 

After  a  minute  of  consultation  a  single  horseman 
rode  to  the  bank  of  the  stream. 

"You  over  there,"  he  shouted. 

"It's  dad,"  said  Lee, 


136  A  Man  Four-Square 

"  You  'd  better  surrender  peaceable.  We  've  come 
to  git  you  alive  or  dead,"  shouted  Snaith. 

"What  do  you  want  us  for?"  asked  Prince. 

"You  know  well  enough  what  for.  You  killed 
one  of  my  punchers." 

Clanton  groaned.   "Only  one?" 

"An'  another  may  die  any  day.  Come  out  with 
yore  hands  up." 

"We'd  rather  stay  here,  thank  you,"  Billie  called 
back. 

Snaith  leaned  forward  in  the  saddle.  "Is  that 
you  over  there,  Lee?" 

"Yes,  dad." 

"Gone  back  on  yore  father  and  taken  up  with 
Webb's  scalawags,  have  you?" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  she  called  back.  "But  I'm 
going  to  see  they  get  fair  play." 

"You  git  out  of  there,  girl,  and  on  this  side  of  ths 
river!"  Snaith  roared  angrily.  "Pronto!  Do  you 
hear?" 

"There's  no  use  shouting  yourself  hoarse,  dad. 
I  can  hear  you  easily,  and  I'm  not  coming." 

"Not  comin'!  D'  ye  mean  you've  taken  up  with 
a  pair  of  killers,  of  outlaws  we  're  goin'  to  put  out  of 
business?  You  talk  like  a  —  like  a  — " 

"Go  slow,  Snaith!"  cut  in  Prince  sharply.  "Can't 
you  see  she's  tryin'  to  save  you  from  murder?" 

"We're  goin'  to  take  those  boys  back  to  Los 
Portales  with  us  —  or  their  bodies.  I  don't  care  a 
whole  lot  which.  You  light  a  shuck  out  of  there, 
Lee." 

"No,"  she  answered  stubbornly.   "If  you're  so 


A  Man  Four-Square  13? 

bent  on  shooting  at  some  one  you  can  shoot  at 


me." 


The  cattleman  stormed  and  threatened,  but  in 
the  end  he  had  to  give  up  the  point.  His  daughter 
was  as  obstinate  as  he  was.  He  retired  in  volcanic 
humor. 

"I  never  could  get  dad  to  give  up  swearing,"  his 
daughter  told  her  new  friends  by  way  of  humorous 
apology.   "Wonder  what  he'll  do  now\" 

"Wait  till  night  an'  drive  us  out  of  our  hole,  I 
expect,"  replied  Prince. 

"Will  he  wait?  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said 
Jim.  "See.  His  men  are  scattering.  They're  up 
to  somethin'." 

"They're  going  down  to  cross  the  river  to  get  be- 
hind us  just  as  you  said  they  would,"  predicted  Lee. 

She  was  right.  Half  an  hour  later,  from  her  po- 
sition on  the  bank  above  the  cave,  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  man  slipping  forward  through  the 
brush.  She  called  to  Prince,  who  crept  out  from 
behind  the  tumble  weeds  to  join  her.  A  bullet  dug 
into  the  soft  clay  not  ten  inches  from  his  head.  He 
scrambled  up  and  lay  down  behind  a  patch  of  soap- 
weed  a  few  yards  from  the  girl.  Another  bullet 
from  across  the  river  whistled  past  the  cowpuncher. 

Lee  rose  and  walked  across  to  the  bushes  where 
he  lay  crouched.  Very  deliberately  she  stood  there, 
shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun  as  she  looked  toward 
the  sharpshooters.  Twice  they  had  taken  a  chance, 
because  of  the  distance  between  her  and  Prince. 
She  intended  they  should  know  how  close  she  was 
to  him  now. 


138  A  Man  Four-Square 

Billie  could  not  conceal  his  anxiety  for  her.  "  Why 
don't  you  get  back  where  you  were?  I  got  as  far  as 
I  could  from  you  on  purpose,  What's  the  sense  of 
you  comin'  right  up  to  me  when  you  see  they're 
shoot  in'  at  me?" 

"That's  why  I  came  up  closer.  They'll  have  to 
stop  it  as  long  as  I'm  here." 

"You  can't  stay  there  the  rest  of  yore  natural 
life,  can  you?"  he  asked  with  manifest  annoyance. 
Even  if  he  got  out  of  his  present  danger  alive  —  and 
Billie  had  to  admit  to  himself  that  the  chances  did 
not  look  good  —  he  knew  it  would  be  cast  up  to 
him  some  day  that  he  had  used  Lee  Snaith's  pres- 
ence as  a  shield  against  his  enemies.  "Why  don't 
you  act  reasonable  an'  ride  back  to  town,  like  a  girl 
ought  to  do?  You've  been  a  good  friend  to  us. 
There's  nothin'  more  you  can  do.  It's  up  to  us  to 
fight  our  way  out." 

He  took  careful  aim  and  fired.  A  man  in  the 
bushes  two  hundred  yards  back  of  them  scuttled 
to  his  feet  and  ran  limping  off.  Billie  covered  the 
dodging  man  with  his  rifle  carefully,  then  lowered 
his  gun  without  firing. 

"Let  him  go,"  said  Prince  aloud.  "Mr.  Dumont 
won't  bother  us  a  whole  lot.  He's  gun-shy  any- 
how." 

From  across  the  river  came  a  scatter  of  bullets. 

"They've  got  to  hit  closeter  to  that  before  they 
worry  me,"  Jim  called  to  the  two  above. 

"I  don't  think  they  shot  to  hit.  They're  tryin' 
to  scare  Miss  Lee  away,"  called  down  Billie. 

"As  if  I  did  n't  know  dad  would  n't  let  'em  take 


A  Man  Four-Square  139 

any  chances  with  me  here,"  the  girl  said  confidently 
"If  we  can  hold  out  till  night  I  can  stay  here  and 
keep  shooting  while  you  two  slip  away  and  hide. 
Before  morning  your  friends  ought  to  arrive." 

"  If  they  got  yore  message." 

"Oh,  they  got  it.  Jack  Goodheart  carried  it." 

The  riflemen  across  the  river  were  silent  for  a 
time.  When  they  began  sniping  again,  it  was  from 
such  an  angle  that  they  could  aim  at  the  cave  with- 
out endangering  those  above.  Both  Clanton  and 
Prince  returned  the  fire. 

Presently  Lee  touched  on  the  shoulder  the  man 
beside  her. 

"Look!" 

She  pointed  to  a  cloud  of  smoke  behind  them. 
From  it  tongues  of  fire  leaped  up  into  the  air. 
Farther  to  the  right  a  second  puff  of  smoke  could 
be  seen,  and  beyond  it  another  and  still  a  fourth  jet. 

After  a  moment  of  dead  silence  Prince  spoke. 
"They've  fired  the  prairie.  The  wind  is  blowin' 
toward  us.  They  mean  to  smoke  us  out." 

"Yes." 

"We'll  be  driven  down  into  the  open  bed  of  the 
river  where  they  can  pick  us  off." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"Now,  will  you  leave  us?"  Billie  turned  on  her 
triumphantly.  He  could  at  least  choose  the  condi- 
tions of  the  last  stand  they  must  make.  "They've 
called  our  bluff.  It's  a  showdown." 

"Now  I'll  go  less  than  ever,"  she  said  quietly. 


Chapter  XVI 

Three  Modern  Musketeers 

The  fierce  crackling  of  the  flames  rolled  toward 
them.  The  wind  served  at  least  the  one  purpose  of 
lifting  the  smoke  so  that  it  did  not  stifle  those  on 
the  river-bank.  Clanton  crept  up  from  the  cave 
and  joined  them. 

"Looks  like  we're  goin'  out  with  fireworks,  Bil- 
lie,"  he  grinned. 

"That's  nonsense,"  said  Lee  sharply.  "There's 
a  way  of  escape,  if  only  we  can  find  it." 

"Blamed  if  I  see  it,"  the  young  fellow  answered. 
As  he  looked  at  her  the  eyes  in  his  pale  face  glowed. 
"But  I  see  one  thing.  You're  the  best  little  pilgrim 
that  ever  I  met  up  with." 

The  heat  of  the  flames  came  to  them  in  waves. 

"You  walk  out,  climb  on  yore  horse,  an'  ride 
down  the  river,  Miss  Lee.  Then  we  '11  make  a  break 
for  cover.  You  can't  do  anything  more  for  us," 
insisted  Prince. 

"That 's  right,"  agreed  the  younger  man.  "  We '11 
play  this  out  alone.  You  cut  yore  stick  an'  drift. 
If  we  git  through  I'll  sure  come  back  an'  thank  you 
proper  some  day." 

Recently  Lee  had  read  "The  Three  Musketeers." 
From  it  there  flashed  to  her  a  memory  of  the  pic- 
ture on  the  cover. 

"I  know  what  we'll  do,"  she  said,  coughing  from 
a  swallow  of  smoke.    She  stepped  between  them 


A  Man  Four-Square  141 

and  tucked  an  arm  under  the  elbow  of  each.  "All 
for  one,  and  one  for  all.  Forward  march!" 

They  moved  down  the  embankment  side  by  side 
to  the  sand-bed  close  to  the  stream,  each  of  the  three 
carrying  a  rifle  tucked  close  to  the  side.  From  the 
chaparral  keen  eyes  watched  them,  covering  every 
step  they  took  with  ready  weapons.  Miss  Lee's  party 
turned  to  the  right  and  followed  the  river-bed  in  the 
direction  of  Los  Portales.  For  the  wind  was  driving 
the  fire  down  instead  of  up.  Those  in  the  mesquite 
held  a  parallel  course  to  cut  off  any  chance  of  escape. 

Some  change  of  wind  currents  swept  the  smoke 
toward  them  in  great  billows.  It  enveloped  the 
fugitives  in  a  dense  cloud. 

"Get  yore  head  down  to  the  water,"  Billie  called 
into  the  ear  of  the  girl. 

They  lay  on  the  rocks  in  the  shallow  water  and 
let  the  black  smoke  waves  pour  over  them.  Lee 
felt  herself  strangling  and  tried  to  rise,  but  a  heavy 
hand  on  her  shoulder  held  her  face  down.  She  sput- 
tered and  coughed,  fighting  desperately  for  breath. 
A  silk  handkerchief  was  slipped  over  her  face  and 
knotted  behind.  She  felt  sick  and  dizzy.  The 
knowledge  flashed  across  her  mind  that  she  could 
not  stand  this  long.  In  its  wake  came  another 
dreadful  thought.  Was  she  going  to  die? 

The  hand  on  her  shoulder  relaxed.  Lee  felt  her- 
self lifted  to  her  feet.  She  caught  at  Billie's  arm  to 
steady  herself,  for  she  was  still  queer  in  the  head. 
For  a  few  moments  she  stood  there  coughing  the 
smoke  out  of  her  lungs.  His  arm  slipped  around 
her  shoulder. 


142  A  Man  Four-Square 

"Take  yore  time,"  he  advised. 

A  second  shift  of  the  breeze  had  swept  the  smoke 
away.  This  had  saved  their  lives,  but  it  had  also 
given  Snaith's  men  another  chance  at  them.  A 
bullet  whistled  past  the  head  of  Clanton,  who  was 
for  the  time  a  few  yards  from  his  friends.  Instantly 
he  whipped  the  rifle  up  and  fired. 

"No  luck,"  he  grumbled.  "My  eyes  are  sor^ 
from  the  smoke.  I  can't  half  see." 

Lee  was  not  yet  quite  herself.  The  experience 
through  which  she  had  just  passed  had  shaken  her 
nerves. 

"Let's  get  out  of  here  quick!"  she  cried. 

"Take  yore  time.  There's  no  hurry,"  Prince 
iterated.  "They  won't  shoot  again,  now  Jim's 
close  to  us." 

The  younger  man  grinned,  as  he  had  a  habit  of 
doing  when  the  cards  fell  against  him.  "  Where 'd 
we  go?  Look,  they've  headed  us  off.  We  can't 
travel  forward.  We  can't  go  back.  I  expect  we'll 
have  to  file  on  the  quarter-section  where  we  are," 
he  drawled. 

A  rider  had  galloped  forward  and  was  dismounting 
close  to  the  river.   He  took  shelter  behind  a  boulder. 

Billie  swept  with  a  glance  the  plain  to  their  right. 
A  group  of  horsemen  was  approaching.  "More 
good  citizens  comin'  to  be  in  at  the  finish  of  this 
man  hunt.  They  ought  to  build  a  grand  stand  an' 
invite  the  whole  town,"  he  said  sardonically. 

A  water-gutted  arroyo  broke  the  line  of  river- 
bank.  Jim,  who  was  limping  heavily,  stopped  and 
examined  it. 


A  Man  Four-Square  113 

"Let's  stay  here,  Billie,  an*  fight  it  out.  No  use 
foolin'  ourselves.  We're  trapped.  Might  as  well 
call  for  a  showdown  here  as  anywhere." 

Prince  nodded.  "Suits  me.  We '11  make  our  stand 
right  at  the  head  of  the  arroyo."  He  turned  ab- 
ruptly to  the  girl.  "It's  got  to  be  good-bye  here, 
Miss  Lee." 

"That's  whatever,  littlest  pilgrim,"  agreed 
Clanton  promptly.  "If  you  get  a  chance  send  word 
to  Webb  an'  tell  him  how  it  was  with  us." 

Her  lip  trembled.  She  knew  that  in  the  shadow 
of  the  immediate  future  red  tragedy  lurked.  She 
had  done  her  best  to  avert  it  and  had  failed.  The 
very  men  she  was  trying  to  save  had  dismissed 
her. 

"Must  I  go?"  she  begged. 

"You  must,  Miss  Lee.  We're  both  grateful  to 
you.  Don't  you  ever  doubt  that!"  Billie  said,  his 
earnest  gaze  full  in  hers. 

The  girl  turned  away  and  went  up  through  the 
sand,  her  eyes  filmed  with  tears  so  that  she  could 
not  see  where  she  was  going.  The  two  men  entered 
the  arroyo.  Before  they  reached  the  head  of  it  she 
could  hear  the  crack  of  exploding  rifles.  One  of  the 
men  across  the  river  was  firing  at  them  and  they 
were  throwing  bullets  back  at  him.  She  wondered, 
shivering,  whether  it  was  her  father. 

It  must  have  been  a  few  seconds  later  that  she 
heard  the  joyous  "  Eee-y ip-eee ! "  of  Prince.  Almost 
at  the  same  time  a  rider  came  splashing  through 
the  shallow  water  of  the  river  toward  her. 

The  man  was  her  father.  He  swung  down  from 


144  A  Man  Four-Square 

the  saddle  and  snatched  her  into  his  arms.  His 
haggard  face  showed  her  how  anxious  he  had  been. 
She  began  to  sob,  overcome,  perhaps,  as  much  by 
his  emotion  as  her  own. 

"I'll  blacksnake  the  condemned  fool  that  set  fire 
to  the  prairie!"  he  swore,  gulping  down  a  lump  in 
his  throat.  "Tell  me  you-all  aren't  hurt,  Bertie 
Lee.  .  .  .  God !  I  thought  you  was  swallowed  up  in 
that  fire." 

"Daddie,  daddie,  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  had  to 
do  it,"  she  wept.  "And  —  I  thought  I  would  choke 
to  death,  but  Mr.  Prince  saved  me.  He  kept  my 
face  close  to  the  water  and  made  me  breathe  through 
a  handkerchief." 

"Did  he?"  The  man's  face  set  grimly  again. 
"Well,  that  won't  save  him.  As  for  you,  miss  — 
you're  goin'^to  yore  room  to  live  on  bread  an'  wa- 
ter for  a  week.  I  wish  you  were  a  boy  for  about 
five  minutes  so's  I  could  wear  you  to  a  frazzle 
with  a  cowhide." 

Snaith's  intentions  toward  Clanton  and  Prince 
had  to  be  postponed  for  the  present,  the  cattleman 
discovered  a  few  minutes  later.  When  he  and  Lee 
emerged  from  the  river-bed  to  the  bank  above,  the 
first  thing  he  saw  was  a  group  of  cowpunchers  shak- 
ing hands  gayly  with  the  two  fugitives.  His  jaw 
dropped. 

"Where  in  Mexico  did  they  come  from?"  he 
asked  himself  aloud. 

"I  expect  they're  Webb's  riders,"  his  daughter 
answered  with  a  little  sob  of  joy.  "I  thought 
they'd  never  come." 


A  Man  Four-Square  145 

"You  thought .  .  .  How  did  you  know  they  were 
comui  r 

"Oh,  I  sent  for  them."  The  girl's  dark  eyes  met 
his  fearlessly.  A  flicker  of  a  smile  crept  into  them. 
"I've  had  the  best  of  you  all  round,  dad.  You'd 
better  make  that  two  weeks  on  bread  and  water." 

Wallace  Snaith  gathered  his  forces  and  retreated 
from  the  field  of  battle.  A  man  on  a  spent  horse 
met  nim  at  his  own  gate  as  he  dismounted.  He 
handed  the  cattleman  a  note. 

On  the  sheet  of  dirty  paper  was  written: 

The  birds  you  want  are  nesting  in  a  dugout  on  the  river 
four  miles  below  town.  You  got  to  hurry  or  they  '11  be  flown. 

J.  Y. 

Snaith  read  the  note,  tore  it  in  half,  and  tossed 
the  pieces  away.  He  turned  to  the  messenger. 

"Tell  Joe  he's  just  a  few  hours  late.  His  news 
is  n't  news  any  more." 


Chapter  XVII 

"Peg-Leg"  Warren 

Webb  drove  his  cattle  up  the  river,  the  Staked 
Plains  on  his  right.  The  herd  was  a  little  gaunt 
from  the  long  journey  and  he  took  the  last  part  of 
the  trek  in  easy  stages.  Since  he  had  been  awarded 
the  contract  for  beeves  at  the  Fort,  by  Depart- 
ment orders  the  old  receiving  agent  had  been  trans- 
ferred. The  new  appointee  was  a  brother-in-law  of 
McRobert  and  the  owner  of  the  Flying  V  Y  did 
not  want  to  leave  any  loophole  for  rejection  of  the 
steers. 

With  the  clean  blood  of  sturdy  youth  in  him 
Clanton  recovered  rapidly  from  the  shoulder 
wound.  In  order  to  rest  him  as  much  as  possible, 
Webb  put  him  in  charge  of  the  calf  wagon  which 
followed  the  drag  and  picked  up  any  wobbly-legged 
bawlers  dropped  on  the  trail.  During  the  trip  Jim 
discovered  for  himself  the  truth  of  what  Billie  had 
said,  that  the  settlers  with  small  ranches  were  lined 
up  as  allies  of  the  Snaith-McRobert  faction.  These 
men,  owners  of  small  bunches  of  cows,  claimed  that 
Webb  and  the  other  big  drovers  rounded  up  their 
cattle  in  the  drive,  ran  the  road  brand  of  the 
traveling  outfit  on  these  strays,  and  sold  them  as 
their  own.  The  story  of  the  drovers  was  different. 
They  charged  that  these  "nesters"  were  practi- 
cally rustlers  preying  upon  larger  interests  passing 
through  the  country  to  the  Indian  reservations, 


A  Man  Four-Square  147 

Year  by  year  the  feeling  had  grown  more  bitter, 
That  Snaith  and  McRobert  backed  the  river  set- 
tlers was  an  open  secret.  A  night  herder  had  been 
shot  from  the  mes quite  not  a  month  before.  The 
blame  had  been  laid  upon  a  band  of  bronco  Mes- 
caleros,  but  the  story  was  whispered  that  a  "bad 
man  "  in  the  employ  of  the  Lazy  S  M  people,  a  man 
known  as  "Mysterious  Pete  Champa,"  boasted 
later  while  drunk  that  he  had  fired  the  shot. 

Jim  had  heard  a  good  deal  about  this  Mysterious 
Pete.  He  was  a  killer  of  the  most  deadly  kind  be- 
cause he  never  gave  warning  of  his  purpose.  The 
man  was  said  to  be  a  crack  shot,  quick  as  chain 
lightning,  without  the  slightest  regard  for  human 
life.  He  moved  furtively,  spoke  little  when  sober, 
and  had  no  scruples  against  assassination  from  am- 
bush. Nobody  in  the  Southwest  was  more  feared 
than  he. 

This  man  crossed  the  path  of  Clanton  when  the 
herd  was  about  fifty  miles  from  the  Fort. 

The  beeves  had  been  grazing  forward  slowly  all 
afternoon  and  were  loose-bedded  early  for  the  night. 
Cowpunchers  are  as  full  of  larks  as  schoolboys  on  a 
holiday.  Now  they  were  deciding  a  bet  as  to  whether 
Tim  McGrath,  a  red-headed  Irish  boy,  could  ride 
a  vicious  gelding  that  had  slipped  into  the  remuda. 
Billie  Prince  roped  the  front  feet  of  the  horse  and 
threw  him.  The  animal  was  blindfolded  and  sad- 
dled. 

Doubtful  of  his  own  ability  to  stick  to  the  seat, 
Tim  maneuvered  the  buckskin  over  to  the  heavy 
sand  before  he  mounted.    The  gelding  went  sun- 


148  A  Man  Four-Square 

fishing  into  the  air,  then  got  his  head  between  his 
legs  and  gave  his  energy  to  stiff-legged  bucking. 
He  whirled  as  he  plunged  forward,  went  round  and 
round  furiously,  and  unluckily  for  Tim  reached  the 
hard  ground.  The  jolts  jerked  the  rider  forward 
and  back  like  a  jack-knife  without  a  spring.  He 
went  flying  over  the  head  of  the  bronco  to  the 
ground. 

The  animal,  red-eyed  with  hate,  lunged  for  the 
helpless  puncher.  A  second  time  Billie's  rope 
snaked  forward.  The  loop  fell  true  over  the  head 
of  the  gelding,  tightened,  and  swung  the  outlaw 
to  one  side  so  that  his  hoofs  missed  the  Irishman. 
Tim  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  fled  for  safety. 

The  cowpunchers  whooped  joyously.  In  their 
lives  near-tragedy  was  too  frequent  to  carry  even 
a  warning.  Dad  Wrayburn  hummed  a  stanza  of 
" Windy  Bill"  for  the  benefit  of  McGrath: 

<fBill  Garrett  was  a  cowboy,  an*  he  could  ride,  you  bet; 
He  said  the  bronc  he  could  n't  bust  was  one  he  had  n't  met. 
He  was  the  greatest  talker  that  this  country  ever  saw 
Until  his  good  old  rim-fire  went  a-driftin'  down  the  draw." 

Two  men  had  ridden  up  unnoticed  and  were 
watching  with  no  obvious  merriment  the  contest. 
Now  one  of  them  spoke. 

"Where  can  I  find  Homer  Webb?" 

Dad  turned  to  the  speaker,  a  lean  man  with  a 
peg-leg,  brown  as  a  Mexican,  hard  of  eye  and 
mouth.  The  gray  bristles  on  the  unshaven  face 
advertised  him  as  well  on  into  middle  age.  Wray- 
burn recognized  the  man  as  "Peg-Leg"  Warren, 
one  of  the  most  troublesome  nesters  on  the  river. 


A  Man  Four-Square  149 

"He's  around  here  somewhere."  Dad  turned  to 
Clanton.   "Seen  anything  of  the  old  man,  Jim?" 

"Here  he  comes  now." 

Webb  rode  up  to  the  group.  At  sight  of  Warren 
and  his  companion  the  face  of  the  drover  set. 

"I've  come  to  demand  an  inspection  of  yore 
herd,"  broke  out  the  nester  harshly. 

"Why  demand  it?  Why  not  just  ask  for  it?" 
cut  back  Webb  curtly. 

"  I  'm  not  splittin'  words.  What  I  'm  sayin'  is  that 
if  you've  got  any  of  my  cattle  here  I  want  'em." 

"You're  welcome  to  them."  Webb  turned  to 
his  segundo.  "Joe,  ride  through  the  herd  with  this 
man.  If  there's  any  stock  there  with  his  brand, 
cut  'em  out  for  him.  Bring  the  bunch  up  to  the 
chuck  wagon  an'  let  me  see  'em  before  he  drives 
'em  away." 

The  owner  of  the  Flying  V  Y  brand  wasted  no 
more  words.  He  swung  his  cowpony  around  and 
rode  back  to  the  chuck  wagon  to  superintend  the 
jerking  of  the  hind  quarters  of  a  buffalo. 

He  was  still  busy  at  this  when  the  nester  returned 
with  half  a  dozen  cattle  cut  out  from  the  herd.  In 
those  days  of  the  big  drives  many  strays  drifted 
by  chance  into  every  road  outfit  passing  through 
the  country.  It  was  no  reflection  on  the  honesty  of 
a  man  to  ask  for  an  inspection  and  to  find  one's 
cows  among  the  beeves  following  the  trail. 

Webb  walked  over  to  the  little  bunch  gathered 
by  Warren  and  looked  over  each  one  of  the  steers. 

"That  big  red  with  the  white  stockin's  goes  with 
the  herd.  The  rest  may  be  yours,"  the  drover  said. 


150  A  Man  Four-Square 

"The  roan's  mine  too.  My  brand's  the  Cir- 
cle Diamond.  See  here  where  it's  been  blotted 
out." 

"I  bought  that  steer  from  the  Circle  Lazy  H 
five  hundred  miles  from  here.  You'll  find  a  hun- 
dred like  it  in  the  herd,"  returned  Webb  calmly. 

Warren  turned  to  his  companion.  "Pete,  you 
know  this  steer.  Ain't  it  mine?" 

"Sure."  The  man  to  whom  Warren  had  turned 
for  confirmation  was  a  slight,  trim,  gray-eyed  man. 
Sometimes  the  gray  of  the  eyes  turned  almost 
black,  but  always  they  were  hard  as  onyx.  There 
was  about  the  man  something  sinister,  something 
of  eternal  wariness.  His  glance  had  a  habit  of 
sweeping  swiftly  from  one  person  to  another  as  if 
it  questioned  what  purpose  might  lie  below  the 
unruffled  surface. 

Homer  Webb  called  to  Prince  and  to  Wrayburn. 
"Billie  —  Dad,  know  anything  about  this  big  red 
steer?" 

"Know  it?  We'd  ought  to,"  answered  Wray- 
burn promptly.  "It's  the  ladino  beef  that  started 
the  stampede  on  the  Brazos  —  made  us  more 
trouble  than  any  ten  critters  of  the  bunch." 

"You  bought  it  from  the  Circle  Lazy  H,"  sup- 
plemented Billie. 

Peg-Leg  Warren  laughed  harshly.  "O'  course 
they'll  swear  to  it.  You're  givin'  them  their  job, 
ain't  you?" 

The  drover  looked  at  him  steadily.  "Yes,  I'm 
givin'  the  boys  a  job,  but  I  have  n't  bought  'em 
body  an'  soul,  Warren." 


A  Man  Four-Square  151 

The  eyes  of  the  nester  were  a  barometer  of  his 
temper.   "That's  my  beef,  Webb." 

"It  never  was  yours  an'  it  never  will  be." 

"Raw  work,  Webb.  I'll  not  stand  for  it." 

"Don't  overplay  yore  hand,"  cautioned  the 
owner  of  the  trail  herd. 

Clanton  had  ridden  up  and  was  talking  to  the 
cook.  A  couple  of  other  punchers  had  dropped  up 
to  the  chuck  wagon,  casually  as  it  were. 

Warren  glared  at  them  savagely,  but  swallowed 
his  rage.  "It's  yore  say-so  right  now,  but  I'll  col- 
lect what 's  comin'  to  me  one  of  these  days.  You  're 
liable  to  find  this  trail  hotter  'n  hell  with  the  lid 
on." 

"  I  'm  not  lookin'  for  trouble,  but  I  'm  not  runnin' 
away  from  it,"  returned  Webb  evenly. 

"You're  sure  goin'  to  find  it  —  a  heap  more  of  it 
than  you  can  ride  herd  on.  That  right,  Pete?" 

The  gray-eyed  man  nodded  slightly.  Mysterious 
Pete  had  the  habit  of  taciturnity.  His  gaze  slid  in 
a  searching,  sidelong  fashion  from  Webb  to  Prince, 
on  to  Wrayburn,  across  to  Clanton,  and  back  to 
the  drover.  No  wolf  in  the  encinal  could  have  been 
warier. 

"Cut  out  the  roan,"  ordered  Webb. 

The  ladino  was  separated  from  the  bunch  of 
Circle  Diamond  cattle.  Warren  and  his  satellite 
drove  the  rest  from  the  camp. 

"War,  looks  like,"  commented  Dad  Wrayburn. 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  drover.  "I  wish  it  didn't 
have  to  be.  But  Peg-Leg  called  for  a  showdown. 
He  came  here  to  force  my  hand.    As  regards  the 


152  A  Man  Four-Square 

beef,  he  might  have  had  it  an'  welcome.  But  that 
wouldn't  have  satisfied  him.  He'd  have  taken  it 
for  a  sign  of  weakness  if  I  had  given  way." 

"What  will  he  do?"  asked  young  McGrath. 

"I  don't  know.  We'll  have  to  keep  our  eyes  open 
every  minute  of  the  day  an'  night.  Are  you  with 
me,  boys?" 

Tim  threw  his  hat  into  the  air  and  let  out  a  yell. 
"Surest  thing  you  know." 

"Damfidon't  sit  in  an'  take  a  hand,"  said  Wray- 
burn. 

One  after  another  agreed  to  back  the  boss. 

"But  don't  think  it  will  be  a  picnic,"  urged  Webb. 
"We'll  know  we've  been  in  a  fight  before  we  get 
through.  With  a  crowd  of  gunmen  like  Mysterious 
Pete  against  us  we'll  have  hard  travelin'.  I'd  side- 
st*y  this  if  I  could,  but  I  can't." 


Chapter  XVIII 

A  Stampede 

Clanton  took  his  turn  at  night  herding  for  the 
first  time  the  day  of  Warren's  visit  to  the  camp. 
Under  a  star-strewn  sky  he  circled  the  sleeping 
herd,  humming  softly  a  stanza  of  a  cowboy  song. 
Occasionally  he  met  Billie  Prince  or  Tim  McGrath 
circling  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  scene  was 
peaceful  as  old  age  and  beautiful  as  a  fairy  tale. 
For  under  the  silvery  light  of  night  the  Southwest 
takes  on  a  loveliness  foreign  to  it  in  the  glare  of  tne 
sun.  The  harsh  details  of  day  are  lost  in  a  luminous 
glow  of  mystic  charm. 

Jim  had  just  ridden  past  Billie  when  the  silence 
was  shattered  by  a  sudden  fury  of  sound.  The 
popping  of  revolvers,  the  clanging  of  cow  bells,  the 
clash  of  tin  boilers  —  all  that  medley  of  discord 
which  lends  volume  to  the  horror  known  as  a 
charivari  —  tore  to  shreds  the  harmony  of  the 
night. 

"What's  that?"  called  Billie. 

The  hideous  dissonance  came  from  the  side  of  the 
herd  farthest  from  the  camp.  Together  the  two 
riders  galloped  toward  it. 

"Peg-Leg  Warren's  work,"  guessed  Clanton. 

"Sure,"  agreed  Billie.  "Trying  to  stampede  the 
herd." 

Already  the  cattle  were  bawling  in  wild  terror, 
surging  toward  the  camp  to  escape  this  unknown 


154  A  Man  Four-Square 

danger.  Both  of  the  punchers  drew  their  revolvers 
and  fired  rapidly  into  the  air.  It  was  impossible  to 
check  the  rush,  but  they  succeeded  in  deflecting  it 
from  the  sleeping  men.  Before  the  weapons  were 
empty,  the  ground  shook  with  a  thunder  of  hoofs 
as  the  herd  fled  into  the  darkness. 

Billie  found  himself  in  the  van  of  the  stampede. 
He  was  caught  in  the  rush  and  to  save  himself  from 
being  trampled  down  was  forced  to  join  the  flight. 
He  was  the  center  of  a  moving  sea  of  backs,  so 
hemmed  in  that  if  his  pony  stumbled  life  would  be 
trodden  out  of  him  in  an  instant.  Except  for  occa- 
sional buffalo  wallows  the  ground  was  level,  but  at 
any  moment  his  mount  might  break  a  leg  in  a 
prairie-dog  hole. 

For  the  first  mile  or  two  the  cattle  were  packed 
in  a  dense  mass,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  all  lumbering 
forward  in  wild-eyed  panic.  The  noise  of  their  hoofs 
was  like  the  continuous  roll  of  thunder  and  the 
cloud  of  dust  so  thick  that  the  throat  of  Prince  was 
swollen  with  it.  It  was  only  after  the  stampeded 
cattle  had  covered  several  miles  that  the  forma- 
tion of  their  aimless  charge  grew  looser.  The  pace 
slackened  as  the  steers  became  leg-weary.  Now 
and  again  small  bunches  dropped  from  the  drag  or 
from  one  of  the  flanks.  Gradually  Billie  was  able 
to  work  toward  the  outskirts.  His  chance  came 
when  the  herd  poured  into  a  swale  and  from  it 
emerged  into  a  more  broken  terrain.  Directly  in 
front  of  the  leaders  was  a  mesa  with  a  sharp  incline. 
Instead  of  taking  the  hill,  the  stampede  split,  part 
flowing  to  the  right  and  part  to  the  left.  The  cow- 


A  Man  Four-Square  155 

puncher  urged  his  fagged  horse  straight  up  the 
hill. 

He  had  escaped  with  his  life,  but  the  bronco  was 
completely  exhausted.  Billie  unsaddled  and  freed 
the  cowpony.  He  knew  it  would  not  wander  far 
now.  Stretched  out  at  full  length  on  the  buffalo 
grass,  the  cowboy  drank  into  his  lungs  the  clean, 
cold  night  air.  His  tongue  was  swollen,  his  lips 
cracked  and  bleeding.  The  alkali  dust,  sifting  into 
his  eyes,  had  left  them  red  and  sore.  Every  inch  of 
his  unshaven  face,  his  hands,  and  his  clothes  was 
covered  with  a  fine,  white  powder.  For  a  long  drink 
of  mountain  water  he  would  gladly  have  given  a 
month's  pay. 

Within  the  hour  Billie  resaddled  and  took  the 
back  trail.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  He  must  get 
back  to  camp,  notify  Webb  where  the  stampede 
was  moving,  and  join  the  other  riders  in  an  all- 
night  and  all-day  round-up  of  the  scattered  herd. 
Since  daybreak  he  had  been  in  the  saddle,  and  he 
knew  that  for  at  least  twenty-four  hours  longer  he 
would  not  leave  it  except  to  change  from  a  worn-out 
horse  to  a  fresh  one. 

When  Prince  reached  camp  shortly  after  mid- 
night he  found  that  the  stampede  of  the  cattle  had 
for  the  moment  fallen  into  second  place  in  the  minds 
of  his  companions.  They  were  digging  a  grave  for 
the  body  of  Tim  McGrath.  The  young  Irishman 
had  been  shot  down  just  as  the  attack  on  the  herd 
began.  It  was  a  reasonable  guess  to  suppose  that 
he  had  come  face  to  face  with  the  raiders,  who  had 
shot  him  on  the  theory  that  dead  men  tell  no  tales. 


156  A  Man  Four-Square 

But  the  eowpuncher  had  lived  till  his  friends 
reached  him.  He  had  told  them  with  his  dying 
breath  that  Mysterious  Pete  had  shot  him  without  a 
word  of  warning  and  that  after  he  fell  from  his  horse 
?eg-Leg  Warren  rode  up  and  fired  into  his  body. 

Jim  Clanton  called  his  friend  to  one  side.  "I'm 
goin'  to  sneak  out  an'  take  a  lick  at  them  fellows, 
Billie.  Want  to  go  along?" 

"What's  yore  notion?  How 're  you  goin'  to 
manage  it?" 

"Me,  I'm  goin'  to  bushwhack  Warren  or  some  of 
his  killers  from  the  chaparral." 

Prince  had  seen  once  before  that  cold  glitter  in 
the  eyes  of  the  hill  man.  It  was  the  look  that  comes 
into  the  face  of  the  gunman  when  he  is  intent  on 
the  kill. 

"I  wouldn't  do  that  if  I  was  you,  Jim,"  Billie 
advised.  "This  ain't  our  personal  fight.  We're 
under  orders.  We'd  better  wait  an'  see  what  the 
old  man  wants  us  to  do.  An'  I  don't  reckon  I  would 
shoot  from  ambush  anyhow." 

"Wouldn't  you?  I  would."  The  jaw  of  the 
younger  man  snapped  tight.  "WTiat  chance  did 
they  give  poor  Tim,  I'd  like  to  know?  He  was  one 
of  the  best-hearted  pilgrims  ever  rode  up  the  trail, 
an'  they  shot  him  down  like  a  coyote.  I  'm  goin'  to 
even  the  score." 

"Don't  you,  Jim;  don't  you."  Billie  laid  a  hand 
on  the  shoulder  of  his  partner  in  adventure.  "Be- 
cause they  don't  fight  in  the  open  is  no  reason  for 
us  to  bushwhack  too.  That's  no  way  for  a  white 
man  to  attack  his  enemies." 


A  Man  Four-Square  157 

But  the  inheritance  from  feudist  ancestors  was 
strong  in  young  Clanton.  He  had  seen  a  comrade 
murdered  in  cold  blood.  All  the  training  of  his  prim- 
itive and  elemental  nature  called  for  vengeance. 

"No  use  beefin',  Billie.  You  don't  have  to  go  if 
you  don't  want  to.  But  I  'm  goin\  I  did  n't  christen 
myself  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  for  nothin'." 

"  Put  it  up  to  Webb  first.  Let 's  hear  what  he  has 
got  to  say  about  it,"  urged  Prince.  "We've  all  got 
to  pull  together.  You  can't  play  a  lone  hand  in 
this." 

"I'll  put  it  up  to  Webb  when  I've  done  the  job. 
He  won't  be  responsible  for  it  then.  He  can  cut 
loose  from  me  if  he  wants  to.  So  long,  Billie.  I'll 
sleep  on  Peg-Leg  Warren's  trail  till  I  git  him." 

"Give  up  that  fool  notion,  Jim.  I  can't  let  you 
go.  It  would  n't  be  fair  to  you  or  to  Webb  either. 
We're  all  in  this  together." 

"What '11  you  do  to  prevent  my  goin'?" 

"I'll  tell  the  old  man  if  I  have  to.  Sho,  kid! 
Let's  not  you  an'  me  have  trouble."  Billie's  gentle 
smile  pleaded  for  their  friendship.  "We've  been 
pals  ever  since  we  first  met  up.  Don't  go  off  on  this 
crazy  idea  like  a  half-cocked  hogleg." 

"We're  not  goin'  to  quarrel,  Billie.  Nothin'  to 
that.  But  I'm  goin'  through."  The  boyish  jaw 
clamped  tight  again.  The  eyes  that  looked  at  his 
friend  might  have  been  of  tempered  steel  for  hard- 
ness. 

"No." 

"Yes." 

Clanton  was  leaning  against  the  rump  of  his 


158  A  Man  Four-Square 

horse.  He  turned,  indolently,  gathered  his  body- 
suddenly,  and  vaulted  to  the  saddle.  Like  a  shot  he 
was  off  into  the  night. 

Billie,  startled  at  the  swiftness  of  his  going,  could 
only  stare  after  him  impotently.  He  knew  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  find  one  lone  rider  in  the 
darkness. 

Slowly  he  walked  back  to  the  grave.  The  riders 
of  the  Flying  V  Y  were  gathered  round  in  a  quiet 
and  silent  group.  They  were  burying  the  body  of 
him  who  had  been  the  gayest  and  lightest-hearted 
of  their  circle  only  a  few  hours  before. 

As  soon  as  the  last  shovelful  of  earth  had  been 
pressed  down  upon  the  mound,  Webb  turned  to 
business.  The  herd  scattered  over  thirty  miles  of 
country  must  be  gathered  at  once  and  he  set  about 
the  round-up.  He  had  had  bad  runs  on  the  trail 
before  and  he  knew  the  job  before  his  men  was  no 
easy  one. 

They  jogged  out  on  a  Spanish  trot  in  the  trail  of 
the  stampede.  The  chuck  wagon  was  to  meet  them 
at  Spring  River  next  morning,  where  the  first 
gather  of  beeves  would  be  brought  and  held.  All 
night  they  rode,  tough  as  hickory,  strong  as  whip- 
cord. Into  the  desert  sky  sifted  the  gray  light  which 
preceded  the  coming  of  day.  Banners  of  mauve  and 
amethyst  and  topaz  were  flung  across  the  horizon, 
to  give  place  to  glorious  splashes  of  purple  and  pink 
and  crimson.  The  sun,  a  flaming  ball  of  fire,  rose 
big  as  a  washtub  from  the  edge  of  the  desert. 

In  that  early  morning  light  crept  over  the  plain 
little  bunches  of  cattle  followed  by  brown,  lithe 


A  Man  Four-Square  159 

riders.  Like  spokes  of  a  wheel  each  group  moved 
to  a  hub.  Old  Black  Ned,  the  cook,  was  the  focus 
of  their  travel.  For  at  Spring  River  lie  had  waiting 
for  them  hot  coffee,  flaky  biscuits,  steaks  hot  from 
the  coals.  Each  rider  seized  a  tin  cup,  a  tin  plate, 
a  knife  and  fork,  and  was  ready  for  the  best  Uncle 
Ned  had  to  offer. 

The  remuda  had  been  brought  up  by  the  wran- 
glers. While  the  horses  milled  about  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  each  puncher  selected  another  mount.  He 
moved  forward,  his  loop  trailing,  eye  fixed  on  the 
one  pony,  out  of  one  hundred  and  fifty,  that  he 
wanted  for  the  day's  work.  Suddenly  a  rope  would 
snake  forward  past  half  a  dozen  broncos  and  drop 
about  the  neck  of  an  animal  near  the  heart  of  the 
herd.  The  twisting,  dodging  cowpony  would  sur- 
render instantly  and  submit  to  being  cut  out  from 
the  band.  Saddles  were  slapped  on  in  a  hurry  and 
the  riders  were  again  on  their  way. 

Through  the  mesquite  they  rode,  slackening 
speed  for  neither  gullies  nor  barrancas.  Webb  gave 
orders  crisply,  disposed  of  his  men  in  such  a  way 
as  to  make  of  them  a  drag-net  through  which  no 
cattle  could  escape,  and  began  to  tighten  the  loops 
for  the  drive  back  to  camp. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  chuck  wagon 
was  in  sight.  The  ponies  were  fagged,  the  men 
weary.  For  thirty-six  hours  these  riders,  whose 
muscles  seemed  tough  as  whalebone,  had  been  al- 
most steadily  in  the  saddle.  They  slouched  along 
now  easily,  always  in  a  gray  cloud  of  dust  raised 
by  the  bellowing  cattle. 


160  A  Man  Four-Square 

The  new  gather  of  cattle  was  thrown  in  witb 
those  that  had  been  rounded  up  during  the  night. 
The  punchers  unsaddled  their  worn  mounts  and 
drifted  to  the  camp-fire  one  by  one.  Ravenously 
they  ate,  then  rolled  up  in  their  blankets  and  fell 
asleep  at  once.  To-night  they  had  neither  heart  nor 
energy  for  the  gay  badinage  that  usually  flew  back 
and  forth. 

Night  was  still  heavy  over  the  land  when  Uncle 
Ned's  gong  wakened  them.  The  moon  was  disap- 
pearing behind  a  scudding  cloud,  but  stars  could  be 
seen  by  thousands.  Across  the  open  plain  a  chill 
wind  blew. 

All  was  bustle  and  confusion,  but  out  of  the  tur- 
moil emerged  order.  The  wranglers,  already  fed, 
moved  into  the  darkness  to  bring  up  the  remuda. 
Tin  cups  and  plates  rattled  merrily.  Tongues 
wagged.  Bits  of  repartee,  which  are  the  salt  of  the 
cowpuncher's  life,  were  flung  across  the  fire  from 
one  to  another.  Already  the  death  of  Tim  McGrath 
was  falling  into  the  background  of  their  swift,  tur- 
bulent lives.  After  all  the  cowboy  dies  young. 
Tim's  soul  had  wandered  out  across  the  great  divide 
only  a  few  months  before  that  of  others  among 
them. 

Out  of  the  mist  emerged  the  desert,  still  gray  and 
vague  and  without  detail.  The  day's  work  was  astir 
once  more.  With  the  nickering  of  horses,  the  bawl- 
ing of  cattle,  and  the  shouts  of  men  as  an  orchestral 
accompaniment,  light  filtered  into  the  valley  for 
the  drama  of  the  new  sunrise.  Once  more  the  tire- 
less riders  swept  into  the  mesquite  through  the 


A  Man  Four-Square  161 

clutching  cholla  to  comb  another  segment  of  coun- 
try in  search  of  the  beeves  not  yet  reclaimed. 

That  day's  drive  brought  practically  the  entire 
herd  together  again.  A  few  had  not  been  recovered, 
but  Webb  set  these  down  to  profit  and  loss.  What 
he  regretted  most  was  that  the  cattle  were  not  in 
as  good  condition  as  they  had  been  before  the  stam- 
pede. 

The  drover  spent  the  next  day  cutting  out  the 
animals  that  did  not  belong  to  him.  Of  these  a  good 
many  had  been  collected  in  the  round-up.  It  was 
close  to  evening  before  the  job  was  finished  and 
the  outfit  returned  to  camp. 

Billie  rode  up  to  the  wagon  with  the  old  man. 
Leaning  against  a  saddle  on  the  ground,  a  flank 
steak  in  one  hand  and  a  cup  of  coffee  in  the  other, 
lounged  Jim  Clanton. 

Webb,  hard-eyed  and  stiff,  looked  at  the  young 
man.   "Had  a  pleasant  vacation,  Clanton?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  would  call  it  a  vacation,  Mr. 
Webb.  I  been  attending  to  some  business,"  ex- 
plained Jim. 

"Yours  or  mine?" 

"Yours  an'  mine." 

"You've  been  gone  forty-eight  hours.  The  rest 
of  us  have  worked  our  heads  off  gettin'  together  the 
herd.  I  reckon  you  can  explain  why  you  were  n't 
with  us." 

Yellow  with  dust,  unshaven,  mud  caked  in  his 
hair,  hands  torn  by  the  cat-claw,  Homer  Webb  was 
red-eyed  from  lack  of  sleep  and  from  the  irritation 
of  the  alkali  powder.  This  young  rider  had  broken 


162  A  Man  Four-Square 

the  first  law  of  the  cowpuncher,  to  be  on  the  job 
in  time  of  trouble  and  to  stay  there  as  long  as  he 
could  back  a  horse.  The  owner  of  the  Flying  V  Y 
was  angry  clear  through  at  his  desertion  and  he 
intended  to  let  the  boy  know  it. 

"I  went  out  to  look  for  Peg-Leg  Warren,"  said 
Clanton  apologetically. 

Webb  stopped  in  his  stride.  "You  did?  Who 
told  you  to  do  that?" 

"I  did  n't  need  to  be  told.  I've  got  horse  sense 
myself."  Jim  spoke  a  little  sulkily.  He  knew  that 
he  ought  to  have  stayed  with  his  employer. 

"Well,  what  did  you  do  when  you  found  Peg- 
Leg — make  him  a  visit  for  a  couple  of  days?" 
demanded  the  drover  with  sarcasm. 

"No,  I  don't  know  him  well  enough  to  visit  — • 
only  well  enough  to  shoot  at." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Webb  sharply. 

"Think  I  was  goin'  to  let  'em  plug  Tim  McGrath 
an'  get  away  with  it?"  snapped  Jim. 

"That 's  my  business  —  not  yours.  What  did  you 
do?  Come  clean." 

"Laid  out  in  the  chaparral  till  I  got  a  chance  to 
gun  him,"  the  young  fellow  answered  sullenly. 

"And  then?" 

"Plugged  a  hole  through  him  an'  made  my  get- 
away." 

"You  mean  you've  killed  Peg-Leg  Wrarren?" 

"He'll  never  be  any  deader,"  said  Clanton 
coolly. 

The  dark  blood  flushed  into  Webb's  face.  He 
wasted  no  pity  on  Warren.   The  man  was  a  cold- 


A  Man  Four-Square  163 

hearted  murderer  and  had  reaped  only  what  he 
had  sowed.  But  this  was  no  excuse  for  Clanton, 
who  had  deliberately  dragged  the  Flying  V  Y  into 
trouble  without  giving  its  owner  a  chance  to  deter- 
mine what  form  retribution  should  take.  The  cow- 
puncher  had  gone  back  to  primitive  instincts  and 
elected  the  blood  feud  as  the  necessary  form  of 
reprisal.  He  had  plunged  Webb  and  the  other 
drovers  into  war  without  even  a  by-your-leave.  His 
answer  to  murder  had  been  murder.  To  encourage 
this  sort  of  thing  would  be  subversive  of  all  author- 
ity and  would  lead  to  anarchy. 

"Get  yore  time  from  Yankie,  Clanton,"  said  his 
employer  harshly.  "Sleep  in  camp  to-night  if  you 
like,  but  hit  the  trail  in  the  mornin  \  I  can't  use 
men  like  you." 

He  turned  away  and  left  the  two  friends  alone. 

Prince  was  sick  at  heart.  He  had  warned  the 
young  fellow  and  it  had  done  no  good.  His  regret 
was  for  Jim,  not  for  Warren.  He  blamed  himself 
for  not  having  prevented  the  killing  of  Peg-Leg. 
Yet  he  knew  he  had  done  all  that  he  could. 

"I'm  sorry,  Jim,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Oh,  well!  What's  done  is  done." 

But  Billie  could  not  dismiss  the  matter  casually. 
He  saw  clearly  that  Clanton  had  come  to  the  part- 
ing of  the  ways  and  had  unconsciously  made  his 
choice  for  life.  From  this  time  he  would  be  known 
as  a  bad  man.  The  brand  of  the  killer  would  be  on 
him  and  he  would  have  to  make  good  his  reputation. 
He  would  have  to  live  without  friends,  without  love, 
in  the  dreadful  isolation  of  one  who  is  watched  and 


164  A  Man  Four-Square 

feared  by  all.  Prince  felt  a  great  wave  of  sympathy 
for  him,  of  regret  for  so  young  a  soul  gone  so  totally 
astray.  Surely  the  cards  had  been  marked  againsl 
Jim  Clanton. 


Chapter  XIX 

A  Two-Gun  Man 

Webb  delivered  his  beeves  at  the  Fort  and  endured 
with  what  fortitude  he  could  the  heavy  cut  which 
the  inspector  chose  to  inflict  on  him.  He  paid  off 
his  men  and  let  them  shift  for  themselves.  Billie 
secured  a  wood  contract  at  the  reservation,  em- 
ployed half  a  dozen  men  and  teams,  cleaned  up  a 
thousand  dollars  in  a  couple  of  months,  and  rode 
back  to  Los  Portales  in  the  late  fall. 

He  had  money  in  his  pocket  and  youth  in  his 
heart.  The  day  was  waning  as  he  rode  up  the 
street  and  in  the  sunlight  the  shadows  of  himself 
and  his  horse  were  attenuated  to  farcical  lengths. 
Little  dust  whirls  rose  in  the  road,  spun  round  in 
inverted  cones  like  huge  tops,  and  scurried  out  of 
sight  across  the  prairie.  Horses  drowsed  lazily  in 
front  of  Tolleson's,  anchored  to  the  spot  by  the 
simple  process  of  throwing  the  bridle  to  the  ground. 
It  all  looked  good  to  Billie.  He  had  been  hard  at 
work  for  many  months  and  he  wanted  to  play. 

A  voice  hailed  him  from  across  the  street.  "  Hello, 
you  Billie!" 

Jim  Clanton  and  Pauline  Roubideau  were  com- 
ing out  of  a  store.  He  descended  from  his  horse 
and  they  fell  upon  him  gayly. 

"Jour,  monsieur,"  the  girl  cried,  and  she  gave 
him  warmly  both  her  hands. 

The  honest  eyes  of  Billie  devoured  her.  "Did  n't 


166  A  Man  Four-Square 

know  you  were  within  a  hundred  miles  of  here. 
This  is  great." 

"We've  moved.  We  live  about  twenty  miles 
from  town  now.  But  I'm  in  a  good  deal  because 
Jean  has  bought  the  livery  stable,"  she  explained. 

"I'm  sure  glad  to  hear  that." 

"You're  to  come  and  see  us  to-night.  Supper 
will  be  ready  in  an  hour.  You  bring  him,  Jim," 
ordered  the  girl.  "I'll  leave  you  boys  alone  now. 
You  must  have  heaps  to  talk  about." 

The  gaze  of  the  cowpuncher  followed  her  as  she 
went  down  the  street  light  and  graceful  as  a  fawn. 
Not  since  spring  had  he  seen  her,  though  in  the 
night  watches  he  had  often  heard  the  sound  of  her 
gay  voice,  seen  the  flash  of  her  bright  eyes,  and 
recalled  the  sweet  and  gallant  buoyancy  that  was 
the  dear  note  of  her  comradeship. 

Billie  looked  after  his  horse  and  walked  with  Jim 
to  the  Proctor  House.  His  mind  was  already  busy 
appraising  the  changes  in  his  friend.  Clanton  was 
now  a  "two-gun"  man.  From  each  hip  hung  a 
heavy  revolver,  the  lower  ends  of  the  holsters  tied 
down  in  order  not  to  interfere  with  lightning  rapid- 
ity of  action.  The  young  man  showed  no  signs  of 
nervousness,  but  his  chill  eyes  watched  without 
ceasing  the  street,  doors  and  windows  of  buildings, 
the  faces  of  passers-by  and  corner  loafers.  What 
Prince  had  foreseen  was  coming  to  pass.  He  was 
paying  the  penalty  of  his  reputation  as  a  bad  man. 
Already  incessant  wariness  was  the  price  of  life  for 
him. 

A  second  surprise  awaited  Billie  at  the  Roubideau 


A  Man  Four-Square  167 

house.  Polly  was  in  the  kitchen  and  looked  out  of 
the  door  only  to  wave  a  big  spoon  at  them  as  they 
approached.  Another  young  woman  welcomed 
them.  At  sight  of  Billie  a  deep  flush  burned  under 
her  dark  skin.  It  was,  perhaps,  because  of  this 
sign  of  emotion  that  her  greeting  was  very  cavalier* 

"You're  back,  I  see." 

Prince  ignored  the  hint  of  hostility  in  her  manner. 
His  big  hand  gripped  her  little  one  firmly. 

"Yes,  I'm  back,  Miss  Lee,  and  right  glad  to  see 
you  lookin'  so  well.  I'll  never  forget  the  last  time 
we  met." 

Neither  would  she,  but  she  did  not  care  to  tell 
him  so.  The  memory  of  the  adventure  by  the  river- 
bank  recurred  persistently.  This  lean,  sunbaked 
cowpuncher  with  the  kind  eyes  and  quiet  efficiency 
of  bearing  had  impressed  himself  upon  her  as  no 
other  man  had.  There  was  a  touch  of  scorn  in  her 
feeling  for  herself,  because  she  knew  she  wanted 
him  for  her  mate  more  than  anything  else  on  earth. 
In  the  night,  alone  in  the  friendly  darkness,  her 
hot  face  pressed  into  the  cool  pillows,  she  confessed 
to  herself  that  she  loved  him  and  longed  for  the 
sight  of  his  strong,  good-looking  face  with  its  smile 
of  whimsical  humor.  But  that  was  when  she  was 
safe  from  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Now,  to  punish 
herself  and  to  prevent  him  from  suspecting  the 
truth,  she  devoted  her  attention  mainly  to  Clanton. 

Jim  was  openly  her  admirer.  He  wanted  Lee  to 
know  it  and  did  not  care  who  else  observed  his 
devotion.  Pauline  for  one  guessed  the  boy's  state 
of  mind  and  smiled  at  it,  but  Billie  wondered 


168  A  Man  Four-Square 

whether  the  smile  hid  an  aching  heart.  He  knew 
that  little  Polly  had  a  very  tender  feeling  for  the 
boy  who  had  saved  her  life.  More  than  once  during 
supper  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  soft  eyes  yearned 
for  the  reckless  young  fellow  talking  so  gayly  to 
Miss  Snaith.  The  conviction  grew  in  Prince  —  it 
found  lodgment  in  his  mind  with  a  pang  of  despair 
—  that  the  girl  he  cared  for  had  given  her  love  to 
his  friend.  He  fought  against  the  thought,  tried 
resolutely  to  push  it  from  him,  but  again  and  again 
it  returned. 

Not  until  supper  was  well  under  way  did  Jean 
Roubideau  come  in  from  the  corral.  He  shook 
hands  with  Billie  and  at  the  same  time  explained 
to  Polly  his  tardiness. 

"Billie  is  not  the  only  stranger  in  town  to-night. 
Two  or  three  blew  in  just  before  I  left  and  kept  me 
a  few  minutes.  That  Mysterious  Pete  Champa  was 
one.   You  know  him,  don't  you,  Jim?" 

The  question  was  asked  carelessly,  casually,  but 
Prince  read  in  it  a  warning  to  his  friend.  It  meant 
that  he  was  to  be  ready  for  any  emergency  which 
might  arise. 

After  they  had  eaten  Billie  went  out  to  the  porch 
to  smoke  with  Jean. 

"Is  there  goin'  to  be  trouble  between  Mysterious 
Pete  an'  Jim?"  he  asked. 

"Don't  know.  Wouldn't  wonder  if  that  was 
why  Champa  came  to  town.  If  I  was  Jim  I  'd  keep 
an  eye  in  the  back  of  my  head  when  I  walked.  It 's 
a  cinch  Pete  will  try  to  get  him  —  if  he  tries  it  at 
all  —  with  all  the  breaks  in  his  favor." 


A  Man  Four-Square  169 

"Is  it  generally  known  that  Jim  was  the  mal 
who  killed  Warren?" 

"Yes."  Jean  stuffed  and  lit  his  pipe  before  h€ 
said  anything  more.  "The  kid  can't  get  away  from 
it  now.  Folks  think  of  him  as  a  killer.  They  watch 
him  when  he  comes  into  a  bar-room  an'  they're 
careful  not  to  cross  him.  He's  a  bad  man  whether 
he  wants  to  be  or  not." 

Billie  nodded.  "I  was  afraid  it  would  be  that 
way,  but  I'm  more  afraid  of  somethin'  else.  The 
worst  thing  that  can  happen  to  any  man,  except  to 
get  killed  himself,  is  to  shoot  another  in  cold  blood. 
'Most  always  it  gives  the  fellow  a  cravin'  to  kill 
again.  Have  n't  you  noticed  it?  A  kind  of  madness 
gets  into  the  veins  of  a  killer." 

"Sure  I've  noticed  it.  He  has  to  be  watchin'  — ■ 
watchin'  —  watchin'  all  the  time  to  make  sure  no- 
body gits  him.  His  mind  is  on  that  one  idea  every 
minute.  Consequence  is,  he's  always  ready  to 
shoot.  So  as  not  to  take  any  chances,  he  makes  it 
a  habit  to  be  sudden  death  with  a  six-gun." 

"That's  it.  Most  of  'em  are  sure-thing  killers. 
Jim's  not  like  that.  He's  game  as  they  make  'em. 
But  I'd  give  every  cent  I'm  worth  if  he  hadn't 
gone  out  an'  got  Peg-Leg." 

"He  never  had  any  bringin'  up,  or  at  least  he 
had  the  wrong  kind."  He  listened  a  moment  with 
a  little  smile.  From  the  kitchen,  where  Jim  was 
helping  the  young  women  wash  the  dishes,  came  a 
murmur  of  voices  and  occasionally  a  laugh.  "  Funny 
how  all  good  women  are  mothers  in  their  hearts. 
Polly's  tryin'  to  save  that  boy  from  himself,  an'  I/ 


170  A  Man  Four-Square 

reckon  maybe  Miss  Lee  is  too.  In  a  way  they  got 
no  business  to  have  him  here  at  all.  I  like  him. 
That  ain't  the  point.  But  he's  got  off  wrong  foot 
first.   He's  declared  himself  out  of  their  class." 

"And  yore  sister  won't  see  it  that  way?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  She's  goin'  to  fight  for  his  soul, 
as  you  might  say,  an'  bring  him  back  if  she  can  do 
it.  Polly's  a  mighty  loyal  little  friend,  if  I  am  her 
brother  that  tells  it." 

"She's  right,"  decided  Prince.  "It  can't  hurt 
her  any.  Nothin'  that's  wrong  can  do  her  any 
harm,  because  she's  so  fine  she  sees  only  the  good. 
An'  it's  certainly  goin'  to  do  the  kid  good  to  know 
her." 

"If  he'd  git  out  of  here  he  might  have  a  chance 
yet.  But  he  won't.  An'  when  he  meets  up  with 
Champa  or  Dave  Roush  he 's  got  to  forget  mighty 
prompt  everything  that  Polly  has  told  him." 

"I  heard  Roush  was  on  the  mend.  Is  he  up 
again?" 

"Yes.  He  had  a  narrow  squeak,  but  pulled 
through.  Roush  rode  into  town  with  Mysterious 
Pete  to-night." 

"Then  they've  probably  come  to  gun  Jim.  I'll 
stay  right  with  him  for  a  day  or  two  if  I  can." 

"What  for?"  demanded  Roubideau  bluntly. 
"You're  not  in  this  thing.  You've  got  no  call  to 
mix  up  in  it.  The  boy  saved  Polly,  an'  I  '11  go  this 
far.  If  I  'm  on  the  spot  when  he  meets  Champa  or 
Roush  —  an'  I  '11  try  to  be  there  —  I  won't  let  'em 
both  come  at  him  without  takin'  a  hand.  But  he 
has  got  to  choose  his  own  way  in  life.  I  can't  stand 


A  Man  Four-Square  171 

between  him  an'  the  consequences  of  his  acts.  He 's 
got  to  play  his  own  hand." 

"Did  Dave  Roush  an'  Mysterious  Pete  seem 
pretty  friendly?" 

"Thicker  than  three  in  a  bed." 

"Looks  bad."  Billie  came  to  another  phase  oi 
the  situation.  "How  does  it  happen  that  Snaith's 
outfit  have  let  Jim  stay  here  without  gettin'  after 
him?  Nothin'  but  a  necktie  party  would  suit  'em 
when  we  left  in  the  spring." 

"Times  have  changed,"  explained  Roubideau. 
"This  is  quite  a  trail  town  now.  The  big  outfits 
are  bringin'  in  a  good  deal  of  money.  Snaith  can't 
run  things  with  so  high  a  hand  as  he  did.  Besides, 
there  are  a  good  many  of  the  trail  punchers  in  town 
now.  I  reckon  Wally  Snaith  has  given  orders  not 
to  start  anything." 

"Maybe  Roush  an'  Champa  have  been  given 
orders  to  take  care  of  Jim." 

Jean  doubted  this  and  said  so.  "Snaith  doesn't 
play  his  hand  under  the  table.  But,  of  course, 
Sanders  may  have  tipped  'em  off  to  do  it." 

Clanton  joined  them  presently  and  the  three  men 
walked  downtown.  The  gay  smile  dropped  from 
Jim's  face  the  moment  he  stepped  down  from  the 
porch.  Already  his  eyes  had  narrowed  and  over 
them  had  come  a  kind  of  film.  They  searched  every 
dark  spot  on  the  road. 

"Let's  go  to  Tolleson's,"  he  proposed  abruptly. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  before  Billie  made 
a  counter-proposition.  "No,  let's  go  back  to  the 
hotel." 


172  A  Man  Four-Square 

"All  right.  You  fellows  go  to  the  hotel.  Meet 
you  there  later." 

The  eyes  of  Prince  and  Roubideau  met.  Not  an- 
other word  was  spoken.  Both  of  them  knew  that 
Clanton  intended  to  show  himself  in  public  where 
any  one  that  wanted  him  might  find  him.  They 
turned  toward  Tolleson's,  but  took  the  precaution 
to  enter  by  the  back  door. 

The  sound  of  shuffling  feet,  of  tinkling  piano  and 
whining  fiddle,  gave  notice  in  advance  that  the 
dancers  were  on  the  floor.  Clanton  took  the  pre- 
caution to  ease  the  guns  in  their  holsters  in  order 
to  make  sure  of  a  swift  draw. 

His  forethought  was  unnecessary.  Neither  Ro-ish 
nor  Mysterious  Pete  was  among  the  dancers,  the 
gamblers,  or  at  the  bar.  The  three  friends  passed 
out  of  the  front  door  and  walked  to  the  Proctor 
House.  Clanton  had  done  all  that  he  felt  was  re- 
quired of  him  and  was  willing  to  drop  the  matter 
for  the  night. 


Chapter  XX 

Exit  Mysterious  Pete 

In  the  cold,  gray  dawn  of  the  morning  after,  Mys- 
terious Pete  straddled  down  the  main  street  of  Los 
Portales  with  a  dark-brown  taste  in  his  mouth.  He 
was  feeling  ugly.  For  he  had  imbibed  a  large  quan- 
tity of  liquor.  He  had  gambled  and  lost.  He  had 
boasted  of  what  he  intended  to  do  to  one  James 
Clanton,  now  generally  known  as  "Go-Get-'Em 
Jim." 

This  last  in  particular  was  a  mistake.  Moreover, 
it  was  quite  out  of  accord  with  the  usual  custom  of 
Mr.  Champa.  When  he  made  up  his  mind  to  in- 
crease by  one  the  number  of  permanent  residents 
upon  Boot  Hill  he  bided  his  time,  waited  till  the 
suspicions  of  his  victim  were  lulled,  and  shot  down 
his  man  without  warning.  The  one  fixed  rule  of 
his  life  was  never  to  take  an  unnecessary  chance. 
Now  he  was  taking  one. 

Every  chain  has  its  weakest  link.  Mr.  Champa 
drunk  was  a  rock  upon  which  Mr.  Champa  sober 
had  more  than  once  come  to  shipwreck.  No  doubt 
some  busybody,  seeking  to  curry  favor  with  him, 
had  run  to  this  Clanton  with  the  tale  of  how  Mys- 
terious Pete  had  sworn  to  kill  him  on  sight. 

The  bad  man  was  sour  on  the  world  this  morning. 
He  prided  himself  on  being  always  a  dead  shot,  but 
such  a  night  as  he  had  spent  would  not  help  his 
chances.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  his  nerves 


174  A  Man  Four-Square 

were  jumpy.  What  he  needed  was  a  few  hours' 
sleep. 

He  would  have  taken  a  back  street  if  he  had 
dared,  but  to  do  so  would  have  been  a  confession 
of  doubt.  The  killer  can  afford  to  let  nobody  guess 
that  he  is  afraid.  When  such  a  suspicion  becomes 
current  he  might  as  well  order  his  coffin.  The  men 
whom  he  holds  in  the  subjection  of  fear  will  all  be 
taking  a  chance  with  him. 

So  Mysterious  Pete,  bad  man  and  murderer,  cow- 
ard at  heart  to  the  marrow,  strutted  toward  his 
rooming-house  with  a  heart  full  of  hate  to  every- 
body. The  pleasant  morning  sunshine  was  an  of- 
fense to  him.  A  care-free  laugh  on  the  breeze  made 
him  grit  his  teeth  irritably.  Particularly  he  hated 
Dave  Roush.  For  Roush  had  led  him  into  this 
cunningly  by  bribery  and  flattery.  He  had  fed  the 
jealousy  of  Pete,  who  could  not  brook  the  thought 
of  a  rival  bad  man  in  his  own  territory.  He  had 
hinted  that  perhaps  Champa  had  better  steer  clear 
of  this  youth,  whose  reputation  as  a  killer  had 
grown  so  amazingly.  Ever  since  Clanton  had  killed 
Warren  the  bad  man  had  intended  to  "get  him." 
But  he  had  meant  to  do  it  without  taking  any  risk. 
His  idea  was  to  pretend  to  be  his  friend,  push  a  gun 
into  his  stomach,  and  down  him  before  he  could 
move.  Now  by  his  folly  he  had  to  take  a  fighting 
chance.  Dave  Roush,  to  save  his  own  skin,  had 
pushed  him  into  danger.  All  this  was  quite  clear 
to  him  now,  and  he  raged  at  the  knowledge. 

Champa,  too,  was  at  another  disadvantage.  He 
was  not  sure  that  he  would  know  Clanton  when  he 


A  Man  Four-Square  175 

saw  him.  He  had  set  eyes  on  the  young  fellow  once, 
on  that  occasion  when  he  had  gone  with  Warren  to 
demand  an  inspection  of  the  Flying  V  Y  herd.  But 
he  had  seen  him  only  as  one  of  a  group  of  cow- 
punchers  and  not  as  an  individual  enemy,  whereas 
it  was  quite  certain  that  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  would 
recognize  him. 

From  out  of  a  doorway  stepped  a  young  fellow 
with  his  hand  on  his  hip.  Pete's  six-gun  flashed 
upward  in  a  quarter  curve  even  as  the  bullet 
crashed  on  its  way.  The  youth  staggered  against 
the  wall  and  sank  together  into  a  heap.  Champa, 
every  sense  alert,  fired  again,  then  waited  warily 
to  make  sure  this  was  not  a  ruse  of  his  victim. 

Some  one  —  a  woman  —  darted  from  a  building 
opposite,  flew  across  the  street,  and  dropped  beside 
the  crumpled  figure.  Her  white  skirt  covered  the 
body  like  a  protecting  flag. 

The  dark  eyes  in  the  white  face  lifted  toward 
Champa  were  full  of  horror.  "You  murderer! 
You've  killed  little  Bud  Proctor!"  cried  the  young 
woman. 

He  took  an  uncertain  step  or  two  toward  her. 
Mysterious  Pete  knew  that  if  this  were  true,  his 
race  was  run. 

"  Goddlemighty,  Miss  Snaith!  I  swear  I  thought 
it  was  Clanton.  He  was  drawing  a  gun  on  me." 

Lee  drew  the  boy  to  her  bosom  so  that  her  body 
was  between  the  killer  and  his  victim.  A  swift,  up- 
blazing,  maternal  fury  seemed  to  leap  from  her  face. 

"Don't  come  any  nearer!  Don't  you  dare!"  she 
cried. 


176  A  Man  Four-Square 

The  man's  covert  glance  swept  round.  Already 
men  were  peering  out  of  doors  and  windows  to  see 
what  the  shooting  was  about.  Soon  the  street 
would  be  full  of  them,  all  full  of  deadly  fury  at  him. 
He  backed  away,  snarling,  cut  across  a  vacant  lot, 
and  ran  to  his  room.  The  bolt  in  his  door  was  no 
sooner  closed  than  he  knew  it  could  not  protect 
him.  There  comes  a  time  in  the  career  of  a  large 
percentage  of  bad  men  when  some  other  hard  citi- 
zen on  behalf  of  the  public  puts  a  period  to  it.  He 
is  wiped  out,  not  for  what  he  has  done  only,  but  for 
fear  also  of  what  he  may  do.  The  only  safety  for 
him  now  was  to  get  out  of  the  country  as  fast  as  a 
horse  could  carry  him.  Instinctively  Mysterious 
Pete  recognized  this  now  and  cursed  his  folly  for 
not  going  straight  to  a  corral. 

If  he  hurried  he  might  still  make  his  get-away. 
He  reloaded  his  revolver,  opened  the  door  of  his 
room,  and  listened.  Cautiously  he  stole  downstairs 
and  out  the  back  door  of  the  building.  A  little  girl 
was  playing  at  keeping  house  in  a  corner  of  the 
yard.  Scarcely  more  than  a  baby  herself,  she  was 
vigorously  spanking  a  doll. 

"Be  dood.  You  better  had  be  dood,"  she  ad- 
monished. 

A  crafty  idea  came  into  the  cunning  brain  of  the 
outlaw.  She  would  serve  as  a  protection  against 
the  bullets  of  his  enemies.  He  caught  her  up  and 
carried  her,  kicking  and  screaming,  while  he  ran  to 
the  Elephant  Corral. 

"Saddle  me  a  horse.  Jump!"  ordered  the  fugi 
tive,  his  revolver  out. 


A  Man  Four-Square  177 

The  trembling  wrangler  obeyed.  He  did  not 
know  the  cause  of  Mysterious  Pete's  urgency.  The 
fact  was  enough.  He  knew  that  this  man  with  the 
bad  record  was  flying  in  fear  of  his  life.  Tiny  sweat 
beads  stood  out  on  his  forehead.  The  fellow  was  in 
a  blue  funk  and  would  shoot  at  the  least  pretext. 

The  saddle  that  the  wrangler  flung  on  the  horse 
he  had  roped  was  a  Texas  one  with  double  cinches. 
In  desperate  haste  to  be  gone,  Champa  released  the 
child  a  moment  to  tighten  one  of  the  bands. 

A  voice  called  to  her.   "Run,  Kittie." 

To  the  casual  eye  the  child  was  all  knobby  legs 
and  hair  ribbons.  She  scudded  for  the  stable,  sob- 
bing as  she  ran. 

At  sound  of  that  voice  Mysterious  Pete  leaped 
to  the  saddle  and  whirled  his  horse.  He  was  too 
late.  The  man  who  had  called  to  Kittie  slammed 
shut  the  gate  of  the  corral  and  laughed  tauntingly. 

"Better 'light,  Mr.  Champa.  That  caballo  you  're 
on  happens  to  be  mine." 

Pete  needed  no  introduction.  This  slight,  devil- 
may-care  young  fellow  at  the  gate  was  Clanton. 
He  was  here  to  fight.  The  only  road  of  escape  was 
over  his  body. 

The  gunman  slid  from  the  saddle.  His  instinct 
for  safety  still  served  him,  for  he  came  to  the 
ground  with  the  horse  as  a  shield  between  him  and 
his  foe.  The  nine-inch  barrel  of  his  revolver  rested 
on  the  back  of  the  bronco  as  he  blazed  away.  A 
chip  flew  from  the  cross-bar  of  the  corral  gate. 

Clanton  took  no  chances.  The  first  shot  from 
his  forty-four  dropped  the  cowpony.   Pete  backed 


178  A  Man  Four-Square 

away,  firing  as  he  moved.  He  flung  bullet  after 
bullet  at  the  figure  behind  the  gate.  In  his  panic 
he  began  to  think  that  his  enemy  bore  a  charmed 
life.  Three  times  his  lead  struck  the  woodwork  of 
the  gate. 

The  retreating  man  whirled  and  dropped,  his 
weapon  falling  to  the  dust.  Clanton  fired  once 
more  to  make  sure  that  his  work  was  done,  then 
moved  slowly  forward,  his  eyes  focused  onlhe  body. 
A  thin  wisp  of  smoke  rose  from  the  revolver  lying 
close  to  the  still  hand. 

Mysterious  Pete  had  died  with  his  boots  on  after 
the  manner  of  his  kind. 


Chapter  XXI 

Jim  Receives  and  Declines  an  Offer 

From  the  moment  that  Clanton  walked  out  of  the 
corral  and  left  the  dead  gunman  lying  in  the  dust 
his  reputation  was  established.  Up  till  that  time 
he  had  been  on  probation.  Now  he  was  a  full- 
fledged  killer.  Nobody  any  longer  spoke  of  him  by 
his  last  name,  except  those  friends  who  still  hoped 
he  might  escape  his  destiny.  "Go-Get-'Em  Jim" 
was  his  title  at  large.  Those  on  more  familiar  terms 
called  him  "  Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em." 

It  was  unfortunate  for  Clanton  that  the  killing 
of  Champa  lifted  him  into  instant  popularity.  Mys- 
terious Pete  had  been  too  free  with  his  gun.  The 
community  had  been  afraid  of  him.  The  irrespon- 
sible way  in  which  he  had  wounded  little  Bud 
Proctor,  whose  life  had  been  saved  only  by  the 
courage  of  Lee  Snaith,  was  the  climax  of  a  series  of 
outrages  committed  by  the  man. 

That  Jim  had  incidentally  saved  Kittie  McRobert 
from  the  outlaw  was  a  piece  of  clean  luck.  Snaith 
came  to  him  at  once  and  buried  the  hatchet.  In  the 
war  just  starting,  the  cattleman  needed  men  of 
nerve  to  lead  his  forces.  He  offered  a  place  to 
Clanton,  who  jumped  at  the  chance  to  get  on  the 
pay-roll  of  Lee's  father. 

"Bring  yore  friend  Billie  Prince  to  the  store," 
suggested  Snaith.  "He's  not  workin'  for  Webb 
now.  I  can  make  a  place  for  him,  too." 


180  A  Man  Four-Square 

Billie  came,  listened  to  the  proposition  of  the 
grim  old-timer,  and  declined  quietly. 

"Goin'  to  stick  by  Webb,  are  you?"  demanded 
the  chief  of  the  opposite  faction. 

"Anything  wrong  with  that?  I've  drawn  a  pay- 
check from  him  for  three  seasons." 

"Oh,  if  it's  a  matter  of  sentiment." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Billie  did  not  intend  to  go 
on  the  trail  any  more,  though  Webb  had  offered 
him  a  place  as  foreman  of  one  of  his  herds.  He  had 
discovered  in  himself  unsuspected  business  capac- 
ity and  believed  he  could  do  better  on  his  own. 
Moreover,  he  was  resolved  not  to  let  himself  be- 
come involved  in  the  lawless  warfare  that  was 
engulfing  the  territory. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Washington  County 
was  at  this  time  as  large  as  the  average  Atlantic 
Coast  State.  It  had  become  a  sink  for  the  riff-raff 
driven  out  of  Texas  by  the  Rangers,  for  all  that 
wild  and  adventurous  element  which  flocks  to  a 
new  country  before  the  law  has  established  itself. 
The  coming  of  the  big  cattle  herds  had  brought 
money  into  the  country,  and  in  its  wake  followed 
the  gambler  and  the  outlaw.  Gold  and  human  life 
were  the  cheapest  commodities  at  Los  Portales. 
The  man  who  wore  a  gun  on  his  hip  had  to  be  one 
hundred  per  cent  efficient  to  survive. 

Lawlessness  was  emphasized  by  the  peculiar  con- 
ditions of  the  country.  The  intense  rivalry  to  se- 
cure Government  contracts  for  hay,  wood,  and 
especially  cattle,  stimulated  unwholesome  compe* 
tition.  The  temptation  to  "rustle"  stock,  to  hold 


A  Man  Four-Square  181 

up  outfits  carrying  pay  to  the  soldiers,  to  live  well 
merely  as  a  gunman  for  one  of  the  big  interests  on 
the  river,  made  the  honest  business  of  every-day 
life  a  humdrum  affair. 

None  the  less,  the  real  heroes  among  the  pioneers 
were  the  quiet  citizens  who  went  about  their  busi- 
ness and  refused  to  embroil  themselves  in  the  feuds 
that  ran  rife.  The  men  who  made  the  West  were 
the  mule-skinners,  the  storekeepers,  the  farmers 
who  came  out  in  white-topped  movers'  wagons. 
For  a  time  these  were  submerged  by  the  more  sen- 
sational gunman,  but  in  the  end  they  pushed  to  the 
top  and  wiped  the  "bad  man"  from  the  earth.  It 
was  this  prosaic  class  that  Billie  Prince  had  resolved 
to  join. 

To  that  resolve  he  stuck  through  all  the  blood- 
stained years  of  the  notorious  Washington  County 
War.  He  went  about  his  private  affairs  with  quiet 
energy  that  brought  success.  He  took  hay  and 
grain  contracts,  bought  a  freighting  outfit,  ac- 
quired a  small  but  steadily  increasing  bunch  of 
cattle.  Gradually  he  bulked  larger  in  the  public 
eye,  became  an  anchor  of  safety  to  whom  the  people 
turned  after  the  war  had  worn  itself  out  and  scat* 
tered  bands  of  banditti  infested  the  chaparral  to 
prey  upon  the  settlers. 

This  lean,  brown-faced  man  walked  the  way  of 
the  strong.  Men  recognized  the  dynamic  force  of 
his  close-gripped  jaw,  the  power  of  his  quick, 
steady  eye,  the  patience  of  his  courage.  The  eyes 
of  women  followed  him  down  the  street,  for  there 
was  some  arresting  quality  in  the  firm,  crisp  tread 


182  A  Man  Four-Square 

that  carried  the  lithe,  smooth-muscled  body.  With 
the  passage  of  years  he  had  grown  to  a  full  measure 
of  mental  manhood.  It  was  inevitable  that  when 
Washington  County  set  itself  to  the  task  of  comb- 
ing the  outlaws  from  the  mesquite  it  should  dele- 
gate the  job  to  Billie  Prince. 

The  evening  after  his  election  as  sheriff,  Billie 
called  at  the  home  of  Pauline  Roubideau,  who  was 
keeping  house  for  her  brother.  Jack  Goodheart  was 
leaving  just  as  Prince  stepped  upon  the  porch.  It 
had  been  two  years  now  since  Jack  had  ceased  to 
gravitate  in  the  direction  of  Lee  Snaith.  His  eyes 
and  his  footsteps  for  many  months  had  turned 
often  toward  Polly. 

The  gaze  of  the  sheriff-elect  followed  the  lank 
figure  of  the  retreating  man. 

"I 've  a  notion  to  ask  that  man  to  give  up  a  good 
business  to  wear  a  deputy's  star  for  me,"  he  told 
Pauline. 

"Oh,  I  would  n't,"  she  said  quickly. 

"Why  not?  He'd  be  a  good  man  for  the  job. 
I  want  some  one  game  —  some  one  who  will  go 
through  when  he  starts." 

His  questioning  eyes  rested  on  hers.  She  felt  a 
difficulty  in  justifying  her  protest. 

"I  don't  know  —  I  just  thought  — " 

"I'm  waiting,"  said  Prince  with  a  smile. 

"He  would  n't  take  it,  would  he?"  she  fenced. 

"If  it  was  put  up  to  him  right  I  think  he  would. 
Of  course,  it  would  be  a  sacrifice  for  him  to  make, 
but  good  citizens  have  to  do  that  these  days." 

"He's  had  so  much  hard  luck  and  been  so  long 


A  Man  Four-Square  183 

getting  a  start  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  ask  him." 
The  color  spilled  over  her  cheeks  like  wine  shaken 
from  a  glass  upon  a  white  cloth.  Polly  was  always 
ardent  on  behalf  of  a  friend. 

"I  can't  help  that.  There's  another  man  I  have 
in  mind,  but  if  I  don't  get  him  it  will  be  up  to  Jack." 

"Will  it  be  dangerous?" 

"No  more  than  smoking  a  cigarette  above  an 
open  keg  of  powder.  But  you  don't  suppose  that 
would  keep  him  from  accepting  the  job,  do  you?" 

"No,"  she  admitted.  "He  would  take  it  if  he 
thought  he  ought.  But  I  hope  you  get  the  other 
man." 

"So  do  I." 

Billie  dismissed  the  subject  and  drew  up  a  chair 
beside  the  hammock  in  which  she  was  leaning 
back. 

"This  is  my  birthday,  Polly,"  he  told  her.  "I'm 
twenty-four  years  old." 

"Good  gracious!  What  a  Methuselah!" 

"I  want  a  present,  so  I've  come  to  ask  for  it." 

With  a  sidelong  tilt  of  her  chin  she  flashed  a  look 
of  quick  eyes  at  him.  Her  voice  did  not  betray  the 
pulse  of  excitement  that  was  beginning  to  beat  in 
her  blood. 

"You've  just  been  elected  sheriff.  Isn't  that 
enough?"  she  evaded. 

"That's  a  fine  present  to  hand  a  man,"  he  an- 
swered grimly.  "An'  I  did  n't  notice  you  bubble 
with  enthusiasm  when  I  spoke  of  givin'  half  the 
glory  to  Goodheart." 

"But  I  have  n't  a  thing  you'd  cam  for.   H  I'd 


184  A  Man  Four-Square 

only  known  in  time  I'd  have  sent  to  Vegas  and  got 
you  something  nice." 

"You  don't  have  to  send  to  Vegas  for  it,  Polly. 
The  present  I  want  is  right  here,"  he  said  simply. 

She  reached  out  a  little  hand  impulsively.  "Bil- 
lie, I  believe  you're  the  best  man  I  know  —  the 
very  best." 

"I  hate  to  hear  that.  You're  tryin'  to  let  me 
down  easy." 

"I'm  an  ungrateful  little  idiot.  Any  other  girl  in 
town  would  jump  at  the  chance  to  say,  'Thank  you, 
kind  sir.'"  ' 

"But  you  can't,"  he  said  gently. 

"No,  I  can't." 

He  was  not  sure  whether  there  was  a  flash  of 
tears  in  her  brown  eyes,  but  he  knew  by  that  little 
trick  of  biting  the  lower  lip  that  they  were  not  far 
away.  She  was  a  tender-hearted  little  comrade,  and 
it  always  hurt  her  to  hurt  others. 

Billie  drew  a  long  breath.  "That's  settled,  too, 
then.  I  asked  you  once  before  if  there  was  some 
one  else.  I  ask  you  again,  but  don't  tell  me  if  you  'd 
rather  not." 

"Yes." 

"You  mean  there  is." 

Again  the  scarlet  splashed  into  her  cheeks.  She 
nodded  her  head  three  or  four  times  quickly  in 
assent. 

"Not  Jim  Clanton?"  he  said,  alarmed. 

A  faint,  tender  smile  flashed  on  her  lips.  "I  don't 
think  I'll  tell  you  who  he  is,  Billie." 

He  hesitated.  "That's  all  right,  Polly.   I  don't 


A  Man  Four-Square  185 

want  to  pry  into  yore  secret.  But  —  don't  do  any- 
thing foolish.  Don't  marry  a  man  with  the  notion 
of  reformin'  him  or  because  he  seems  to  you  ro- 
mantic. You  have  lots  of  sense.  You'll  use  it, 
won't  you?"  he  pleaded. 

"I'll  try  to  use  it,  Billie,"  she  promised.  Then, 
the  soft  eyes  shining  and  the  color  still  high  in  her 
cheeks,  she  abided  impulsively:  "I  don't  know  any- 
body that  needs  some  one  to  love  him  more  than 
that  poor  boy  does." 

"Mebbeso.  But  don't  you  be  that  some  one, 
Polly."  He  hesitated,  divided  between  loyalty  to 
his  friend  and  his  desire  for  this  girl's  good.  His 
brown,  unscarred  hand  caught  hers  in  a  firm  grip. 
"Don't  you  do  it,  little  girl.  Don't  you.  The  wo- 
man that  marries  Jim  Clanton  is  doomed  to  be 
miserable.  There 's  no  escape  for  her.  She's  got  to 
live  with  her  heart  in  her  throat  till  the  day  they 
bring  his  dead  body  back  to  her." 

She  leaned  toward  him,  and  now  there  was  no 
longer  any  doubt  that  her  eyes  were  bright  with 
unshed  tears.  "Perhaps  a  woman  doesn't  marry 
for  happiness  alone,  Billie.  That  may  come  to  her, 
or  it  may  not.  But  she  has  to  fulfill  her  destiny.  I 
don't  know  how  to  say  what  I  mean,  but  she  must 
go  on  and  live  her  life  and  forget  herself." 

Prince  rejected  this  creed  flatly.  "No!  No!  The 
best  way  to  fulfill  yore  life  is  to  be  happy.  That's 
what  you've  always  done,  an'  that's  why  you've 
made  other  people  happy.  Because  you  go  around 
singin'  an'  dancin',  we  all  want  to  tune  up  with  you. 
When  I  was  out  bossin'  a  freight  outfit  I  used  to 


186  A  Man  Four-Square 

think  of  you  at  night  under  the  stars  as  a  little  Joy- 
bird.  Now  you  've  got  it  in  that  curly  head  of  yours 
that  you'd  ought  to  be  some  kind  of  a  missionary 
martyr  for  the  sake  of  a  man's  soul.  That's  all 
wrong." 

"Is  it?"  she  asked  him  with  a  crooked,  little, 
wistful  smile.  "How  about  you?  Do  you  want  to 
be  sheriff?  Is  it  going  to  make  you  so  awfully  happy 
to  spend  your  time  running  down  outlaws  for  the 
good  of  the  country?  Are  n't  you  doing  it  because 
you've  been  called  to  it  and  not  because  you  like 
it?" 

"That's  different,"  he  protested.  "When  the 
community  needs  him  a  man 's  got  to  come  through 
or  be  a  yellow  hound.  But  you've  got  no  right  to 
toss  away  yore  life  plumb  foolishly  just  because 
you've  got  a  tender  heart."  Billie  stopped  again, 
then  threw  away  any  scruples  he  might  have  on  the 
score  of  friendship.  "Jim  is  goin'  to  be  what  he  is 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  You  can't  change  him. 
Nobody  can.  In  this  Washington  County  War  he's 
been  a  terror  to  the  other  side.  You  know  that.  For 
such  a  girl  as  you  he's  outside  the  pale." 

"I  heard  Jean  say  once  that  Jim  had  never  killed 
a  man  that  did  n't  need  killing,"  she  protested. 

"That  may  be  true,  too.  But  it  was  n't  up  to 
him  to  do  it.  It  is  n't  only  killin'  either.  He 's  on 
the  wrong  track." 

The  young  man  could  say  no  more.  He  could 
not  tell  her  that  Clanton  was  suspected  of  rustling 
and  that  his  name  had  been  mentioned  in  connec- 
tion with  robbery  of  the  mail.  These  charges  were 


A  Man  Four-Square  187 

not  proved.  Prince  himself  still  loyally  denied  their 
truth,  though  evidence  was  beginning  to  pile  up 
against  the  young  gunman.  He  had  warned  Clan- 
ton,  and  Jim  had  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder, 
laughed,  and  invited  him  to  take  a  drink  with  him. 
This  was  not  quite  the  way  in  which  Billie  felt  an 
innocent  man  would  receive  news  that  he  was  being 
furtively  accused  of  crime. 

"Yes,  he's  going  wrong,"  agreed  Pauline.  "But 
we  can't  desert  him,  can  we?  You  're  his  best  friend. 
You  know  how  brave  he  is,  how  generous,  how  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  loves  people  that  are  fine 
and  true.  If  we  stand  by  him  we  '11  save  him  yet." 

The  young  man's  common  sense  told  him  that 
Clanton's  future  lay  with  himself  and  his  attitude 
toward  his  environment,  but  he  loved  the  spirit  of 
this  girl's  gift  of  faith  in  her  friends.  It  was  so 
wholly  like  her  to  reject  the  external  evidence  and 
accept  her  own  conviction  of  his  innate  goodness. 

"I  hope  yore  faith  will  work  a  miracle." 

"I  hate  the  things  he  does  more  than  you  do, 
Billie.  It  is  horrible  to  me  that  he  can  take  human 
life.  I  don't  justify  him  at  all,  even  though  usually 
he  is  on  the  right  side.  But  in  spite  of  everything 
he  has  done  Jim  is  only  a  wild  boy.  And  he's  so 
splendid  some  ways.  Any  day  he  would  give  his  life 
for  you  or  for  me  or  for  Lee  Snaith.  You  feel  that 
about  him,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

He  was  not  satisfied  to  let  the  subject  drop,  but 
for  the  present  it  had  to  be  postponed.  For  a  young 
man  and  a  young  woman  were  turning  in  at  the 


188  A  Man  Four-Square 

gate.  They  were  a  handsome  pair  physically.  Each 
of  them  moved  with  the  lithe  grace  of  a  young 
puma.  Pauline  rose  to  meet  them. 

"I'm  glad  you  came,  Lee.  Didn't  know  you 
were  in  town,  Jim." 

Clan  ton  smiled.  "I  rode  up  from  the  Hondo  to 
congratulate  our  new  sheriff.  Don't  you  let  any  of 
them  outlaws  escape,  Billie." 

Prince  looked  directly  into  his  audacious  eyes  as 
he  shook  hands  with  him. 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it,  Jim.  I  want  you  to  be  my 
chief  deputy  in  cleanin'  up  the  county.  If  you'll 
help  me  we'll  make  such  a  gather  of  bad  men  that 
it  won't  be  safe  for  a  crook  to  show  his  head  here." 

Pauline  clapped  her  hands.  "What  a  splendifer- 
ous idea!  It's  a  great  chance  for  you,  Jim.  You  and 
Billie  can  do  it  too.  I  know  you  can." 

The  other  young  woman  had  recognized  Prince 
only  by  a  casual  nod.  It  was  her  custom  to  ignore 
him  as  much  as  possible.  Now  her  dark,  velvety 
eyes  jumped  to  meet  his,  then  passed  to  Clanton. 
She  recognized  the  significance  of  the  moment.  It 
was  Jim's  last  opportunity  to  line  up  on  the  side  of 
law  and  order.  Lee,  with  Billie  and  Pauline,  had 
stood  his  loyal  friend  against  a  growing  public 
opinion.  Would  he  justify  their  faith  in  him? 

After  a  long  silence  Jim  spoke.  "No,  I  reckon 
not,  Billie.  I've  got  interests  that  will  take  all  my 
time.  Much  obliged,  old  scout.  I'd  like  to  ride  in 
couples  with  you  like  we  used  to  do.  I  sure  would, 
but  I  can't." 

"That's  all  nonsense.    It's  no  excuse  at  all," 


A  Man  Four-Square  189 

broke  out  Lee  in  her  direct  fashion.  "Mr.  Prince 
has  more  important  affairs  than  you  a  good  deal. 
He  is  dropping  his  to  serve  the  people.  You  '11  have 
to  give  a  better  reason  than  that  to  convince  me." 

Billie  knew  and  Lee  suspected  what  lay  back  of 
the  spoken  word.  The  duty  of  the  sheriff  would  be 
to  hunt  down  the  men  with  whom  Clanton  had 
lately  been  consorting.  He  felt  that  he  could  not 
desert  his  friends  to  line  up  against  them.  Some  of 
these  were  a  bad  lot,  the  riff-raff  of  a  wild  country, 
but  this  would  not  justify  him  in  his  own  mind  for 
using  his  knowledge  of  their  habits  to  run  them  to 
earth. 

"No,  I  can't  talk  business  with  you,  Billie,"  the 
young  fellow  said  decisively. 

"Why  can't  you?"  demanded  Lee. 

Jim  Clanton  smiled.  "You're  certainly  a  right 
persistent  young  lady,  but  by  advice  of  counsel  I 
decline  to  answer." 


Chapter  XXII 

The  Rustlers'  Camp 

From  Live-Oaks  a  breakneck  trail  runs  up  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  drops  down  into  the  valley  be- 
yond, and  twists  among  the  hills  and  through 
canons  to  the  Ruidosa.  In  the  darkness  a  man 
followed  this  precarious  path.  His  horse  climbed  it 
like  a  cat,  without  the  least  uncertainty  or  doubt. 
Both  mount  and  rider  had  covered  this  ground 
often  during  the  Washington  County  War.  Joe 
Yankie  expected  to  continue  to  use  it  as  long  as 
he  found  a  profit  in  other  men's  cattle. 

When  he  had  reached  the  summit  he  swung  to 
the  right,  dipped  abruptly  into  a  narrow  gulch, 
skirted  a  clump  of  junipers,  and  looked  down  upon 
a  little  basin  hidden  snugly  in  the  gorge.  A  wisp  of 
pungent  smoke  rose  to  his  nostrils.  The  pony  began 
cautiously  the  sharp  descent.  The  escarpment  was 
of  disintegrated  granite  which  rang  beneath  the 
hoofs  of  the  animal.  A  pebble  rolled  to  the  edge 
of  the  bluff  and  dropped  into  the  black  pit  below. 

From  the  gulf  a  challenging  voice  rose.  "Hello, 
up  there!" 

"It's  me  —  Joe,"  answered  the  rider. 

"Time  you  were  gettin'  here,"  growled  the  other, 
as  yet  only  a  voice  in  the  darkness. 

Slowly  the  horse  slid  forward  to  a  ribbon  of  trail 
that  led  less  precipitously  to  the  camp. 

"'Lo,  Joe.   Fall  off  an'  rest,"  a  one-armed  man 


A  Man  Four-Square  191 

invited.  By  the  light  of  the  camp-fire  he  was  a 
hard-faced,  wall-eyed  citizen  with  a  jaw  like  a  steel 
trap. 

Yankie  dismounted  and  straddled  to  the  fire. 
"How-how;  I'm  heap  hungry,  boys.  Haven't  et 
since  mornin'." 

"We're  'most  out  of  grub.  Got  nothin'  but 
jerked  beef  an'  hard-tack.  How  are  things  a-stack- 
in',  Joe?"  asked  a  heavy-set,  bow-legged  man  with 
a  cold,  fishy  eye. 

"Looks  good,  Dave.  I'll  lead  the  cattle  to  you. 
It'll  be  up  to  you  an'  Albeen  an'  Dumont  to  make 
a  get-away  with  'em." 

"Don't  you  worry  none  about  that.  Onct  I  get 
these  beeves  on  the  trail  there  can't  no  shorthorn 
cattleman  take  'em  away  from  me." 

"Oh,  you're  doin'  this  thing,  are  you?"  drawled 
Albeen  offensively.  "There's  been  a  heap  of  big  I 
talk  around  here  lately.  First  off,  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  when  you  call  Homer  Webb  a  shorthorn  cattle- 
man you've  got  another  guess  comin'.  He's  a  sure 
enough  old-timer.  Webb  knocked  the  bark  off'n 
this  country  when  it  was  green,  an'  you  got  to  rise 
up  early  an'  travel  fast  if  you  want  to  slip  over 
anything  on  him." 

"That's  whatever,"  agreed  Yankie.  "I  don't 
love  the  old  man  a  whole  lot.  I  've  stood  about  all 
from  him  I'm  intendin'  to.  One  of  these  days  it's 
goin'  to  be  him  or  me.  But  the  old  man's  there 
every  jump  of  the  road.  He  knew  New  Mexico 
when  Los  Portales  was  a  whistlin'  post  in  the  desert. 
He's  fought  through  this  war  an'  come  through 


192  A  Man  Four-Square 

richer  than  when  he  started.  If  I  was  lookin'  for  an 
easy  mark  I'd  sure  pass  up  Webb." 

"He's  got  you  lads  buffaloed,"  jeered  Roush. 
"Webb  looks  like  anybody  else  to  me.  I  don't  care 
if  he's  worth  a  million.  If  he  fools  with  me  he'll 
find  I  fog  him  quick." 

"I've  known  fellows  before  that  got  all  filled  up 
with  talk  an'  had  to  steam  off  about  every  so  often," 
commented  Albeen  to  the  world  at  large. 
I    "Meanin'me?" 

Albeen  carefully  raked  a  live  coal  from  the  fire 
and  pressed  it  down  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  The 
eyes  in  his  leathery,  brown  face  had  grown  hard  as 
jade.  For  some  time  he  and  Dave  Roush  had  been 
ready  for  an  explosion.  It  could  not  come  any  too 
soon  to  suit  the  one-armed  man. 

"Meanin'  you  if  you  want  to  take  it  that  way." 
Albeen  looked  straight  at  him  with  an  unwinking 
gaze.  "You're  not  the  only  man  on  the  reservation 
that  wears  his  gun  low,  Roush.  Maybe  you're  a 
wolf  for  fair.  I've  sure  heard  you  claim  it  right 
often.  You're  a  two-gun  man.  I  pack  only  one, 
seein'  as  I  'm  shy  a  wing.  But  don't  git  the  notion 
you  can  ride  me.  I  won't  stand  for  it  a  minute." 

"Sho!  Dave  didn't  mean  anything  like  that. 
Did  you,  Dave?  "  interposed  Dumont  hastily.  "  You 
was  just  kind  o'  jokin',  was  n't  you?" 

"Well,  I'm  servin'  notice  right  now  that  when 
any  one  drops  around  any  jokes  about  me  bein' 
buffaloed,  he's  foolin'  with  dynamite.  No  man 
alive  can  run  a  sandy  on  me  an'  git  away  with  it." 

The  chill  eyes  of  Albeen,  narrowed  to  shining 


A  Man  Four-Square  193 

slits,  focused  on  Roush  menacingly.  All  present  un- 
derstood that  he  was  offering  Devil  Dave  a  choice. 
He  could  draw  steel,  or  he  could  side-step  the  issue. 

The  campers  had  been  playing  poker  with  white 
navy  beans  for  chips.  Roush,  undecided,  gathered 
up  in  his  fingers  the  little  pile  of  them  in  front  of 
him  and  let  them  sift  down  again  to  the  blanket  on 
the  edge  of  which  he  sat.  Some  day  he  and  Albeen 
would  have  to  settle  this  quarrel  once  for  all.  But 
not  to-night.  Dave  wanted  the  breaks  with  him 
when  that  hour  came.  He  intended  to  make  a  sure 
thing  of  it.  Albeen  was  one  of  those  fire-eaters  who 
would  play  into  his  hand  by  his  reckless  courage. 
Better  have  patience  and  watch  for  his  chance 
against  the  one-armed  gunman. 

"I  ain't  aimin'  to  ride  you  any,  Albeen,"  he  said 
sulkily. 

"Lay  off'n  me,  then,"  advised  the  other  curtly. 

Roush  grumbled  something  inaudible.  It  might 
have  been  a  promise.  It  might  have  been  a  pro- 
test. Yankie  jumped  into  the  breach  and  began 
to  talk. 

"I  couldn't  git  away  from  the  old  man  yesterday. 
I  think  he's  suspicious  about  me.  Anyhow,  he  acts 
like  he  is.  I  came  in  to  Live-Oaks  to-night  without 
notifyin'  him  an'  I  got  to  be  back  in  camp  before 
mornin'.  Here's  my  plan.  I've  got  a  new  rider 
out  from  Kansas  f pr  his  health.  He 's  gun-shy.  I  'II 
leave  him  in  charge  of  this  bunch  of  stock  overnight 
on  the  berrendo.  He'll  run  like  a  scared  deer  at  the 
first  shot.  Hustle  the  beeves  over  the  pass  an'  keep 
'em  movin'  till  you  come  to  Lost  Cache." 


194  A  Man  Four-Square 

Crouched  over  the  blanket,  they  discussed  de- 
tails and  settled  them.  Yankie  rose  to  leave  and 
Roush  followed  him  to  his  horse. 

M Don't  git  a  notion  I'm  scared  of  Albeen,  Joe," 
he  explained.  "No  one-armed,  hammered-down 
little  runt  can  bluff  me  for  a  second.  When  I  'm  good 
an'  ready  I  '11  settle  with  him,  but  I  'm  not  goin'  to 
wreck  this  business  we  're  on  by  any  personal  diffi- 
culty." 

"That's  right,  Dave,"  agreed  the  foreman  of  the 
Flying  V  Y.   "We  all  understand  how  you  feel." 

Yankie,  busy  fastening  a  cinch,  had  his  forehead 
pressed  against  the  saddle  and  could  afford  a  grin. 
He  knew  that  the  courage  of  a  killer  is  largely  de- 
pendent on  his  physical  well-being.  If  he  is  cold  or 
hungry  or  exhausted,  his  nerve  is  at  low  ebb ;  if  life 
is  running  strong  in  his  arteries  his  grit  is  above  par. 
For  years  Roush  had  been  drinking  to  excess.  He 
had  reached  the  point  where  he  dared  not  face  in 
the  open  a  man  like  Albeen  with  nerves  of  unflawed 
steel.  The  declension  of  a  gunman,  if  once  it  begins, 
is  rapid  and  sure.  One  of  those  days,  unless  Roush 
were  killed  first,  some  mild-looking  citizen  would 
take  his  gun  from  him  and  kick  him  out  of  a  bar- 
room. 

The  foreman  traveled  fast,  but  the  first  streaks 
of  morning  were  already  lighting  the  sky  when 
he  reached  Rabbit  Ear  Creek,  upon  which  was  the 
Flying  V  Y  Ranch  No.  3  of  which  he  was  major- 
domo.  He  unsaddled,  threw  the  bronco  into  the 
corral,  and  walked  to  the  foreman's  bunkhouse. 
Without    undressing,  he  flung  himself  upon  the 


A  Man  Four-Square  195 

bed  and  fell  asleep  at  once.  He  awoke  to  see  a 
long  slant  of  sunshine  across  the  bare  planks  of 
the  floor. 

Some  one  was  hammering  on  the  door.  Webb 
opened  it  and  put  in  his  head  just  as  the  segundo 
jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Makin'  up  some  lost  sleep,  Joe?"  inquired  the 
owner  of  the  ranch  amiably. 

"I  been  out  nights  a  good  deal  try  in'  to  check  the 
rustlers,"  answered  Yankie  sullenly.  He  had  been 
caught  asleep  in  his  clothes  and  it  annoyed  him. 
Would  the  old  man  guess  that  he  had  been  in  the 
saddle  all  night? 

"Glad  to  hear  you're  gettin'  busy  on  that  job. 
They've  got  to  be  stopped.  If  you  can't  do  it  I'll 
have  to  try  to  find  a  man  that  can,  Joe." 

"Mebbe  you  think  it's  an  easy  job,  Webb,"  re- 
torted the  other,  a  chip  on  his  shoulder.  "If  you  do 
it  costs  nothin'  Mex  to  fire  me  an'  try  some  other 

guy." 

"I  don't  say  you're  to  blame,  Joe.  Perhaps 
you  're  just  unlucky.  But  the  fact  stands  that  I  'm 
losin'  more  cattle  on  this  range  than  at  any  one  of 
my  other  three  ranches  or  all  of  'em  put  together." 

"We're  nearer  the  hills  than  they  are,"  the  fore- 
man replied  sulkily. 

"I  don't  want  excuses,  but  results,  Joe.  How- 
ever, I  came  to  talk  about  that  gather  of  beeves  for 
Major  Strong." 

Webb  talked  business  in  his  direct  fashion  for  a 
few  minutes,  then  strolled  away.  The  majordomo 
watched  him  walk  down  to  the  corral.   He  could 


196  A  Man  Four-Square 

not  swear  to  it,  but  he  was  none  the  less  sure  that 
the  Missourian's  keen  eye  was  fixed  upon  a  sweat- 
stained  horse  that  had  been  traveling  the  hills  aB 
night. 


Chapter  XXIII 

Murder  from  the  Chaparral 

Webb  was  just  leaving  for  one  of  his  ranches  lower 
down  the  river  when  a  horseman  galloped  up.  The 
alkali  dust  was  caked  on  his  unshaven  face  and 
the  weary  bronco  was  dripping  with  sweat. 

The  owner  of  the  Flying  V  Y,  giving  some  last 
instructions  to  the  foreman,  turned  to  listen  to  the 
sputtering  rider. 

"They  —  they  done  run  off  that  bunch  of  beeves 
on  the  berrendo,"  he  explained,  trembling  with  ex- 
citement. 

"Who?" 

"I  don't  know.  A  bunch  of  rustlers.  About  a 
dozen  of  'em.  They  tried  to  kill  me." 

Webb  turned  to  Yankie.  "You  did  n't  leave  this 
man  alone  overnight  with  that  bunch  of  beeves 
for  Major  Strong?" 

"Sure  I  did.  Why  not?"  demanded  the  foreman 
boldly. 

"We'll  not  argue  that,"  said  the  boss  curtly. 
"Go  hunt  you  another  job.  You'll  draw  yore  last 
pay-check  from  the  Flying  V  Y  to-day." 

"  If  you  're  loaded  up  with  a  notion  that  some  one 
else  could  do  better  — " 

"It's  not  yore  ability  I  object  to,  Yankie,"  cut 
in.  the  ranchman. 

"Say,  what  are  you  insinuatin'?"  snarled  the 
segundoo 


198  A  Man  Four-Square 

"Not  a  thing,  Yankie.  I'm  tellin'  you  to  yore 
face  that  I  think  you're  a  crook.  One  of  these  days 
I'm  goin'  to  land  you  behind  the  bars  at  Santa 
Fe.  No,  don't  make  another  pass  like  that,  Joe. 
I'll  sure  beat  you  to  it." 

Wrayburn  had  ridden  up  and  now  asked  the  fore- 
man a  question  about  some  calves. 

"  Don't  ask  me.  Ask  yore  boss,"  growled  Yankie, 
his  face  dark  with  fury. 

"Don't  ask  me  either,"  said  Webb.  "You're 
foreman  of  this  ranch,  Dad." 

"Since  when?"  asked  the  old  Confederate. 

"Since  right  this  minute.  I've  fired  Yankie." 

Dad  chewed  his  cud  of  tobacco  without  com- 
ment. He  knew  that  Webb  would  tell  him  all  he 
needed  to  know. 

"Says  I'm  a  waddy!  Says  I'm  a  crook!"  burst 
out  the  deposed  foreman.  "Wish  you  joy  of  yore 
job,  Wrayburn.  You'll  have  one  heluva  time." 

"You  will  if  Yankie  can  bring  it  about,"  amended 
the  cattleman.  He  spoke  coldly  and  contemptu- 
ously just  as  if  the  man  were  not  present.  "I've 
made  up  my  mind,  Dad,  that  he 's  in  cahoots  with 
the  rustlers." 

"Prove  it!  Prove  it!"  demanded  the  accused 
man,  furious  with  anger  at  Webb's  manner. 

The  ranch-owner  went  on  talking  to  Wrayburn 
in  an  even  voice.  "I've  suspected  it  for  some  time. 
Now  I'm  convinced.  Yesterday  mornin'  I  found 
him  asleep  in  bed  with  his  clothes  on.  His  horse 
looked  like  it  had  been  travelin'  all  night.  I  made 
inquiries.  He  went  to  Live-Oaks  an'  was  seen  to 
take  the  trail  to  the  Ruidosa.  Why?" 


A  Man  Four-Square  l( 

"You've  been  spyin'  on  me,"  charged  Yankie. 
He  was  under  a  savage  desire  to  draw  his  gun  but 
he  could  not  shake  off  in  a  moment  the  habit  of  sub- 
ordination bred  by  years  of  service  with  this  man. 

"To  let  his  fellow  thieves  know  that  he  meant  to 
leave  a  bunch  of  beef  steers  on  the  berrendo  prac- 
tically unguarded.  That's  why.  I 'd  bet  a  stack  of 
blues  on  it.  You '11  have  to  watch  this  fellow,  Dad." 

The  new  foreman  took  his  cue  from  the  boss. 
None  the  less,  he  meant  just  what  he  said.  "You 
better  believe  I'll  watch  him.  I've  had  misgivin's 
about  him  for  a  right  smart  time." 

"He'll  probably  ride  straight  to  his  gang  of 
rustlers.  Well,  he  can't  do  us  half  as  much  harm 
there  as  here." 

"I'll  git  you  both.  Watch  my  smoke.  Watch 
it."  With  a  curse  the  rustler  swung  his  horse  round 
and  gave  it  the  spur.  Poison  hate  churned  in  his 
heart.  At  the  bend  of  the  road  he  turned  and  shook 
a  fist  at  them  both. 

"There  goes  one  good  horse  an'  saddle  belongin' 
to  me,"  said  Webb,  smiling  ruefully.  "But  if  I 
never  get  them  back  it's  cheap  at  the  price.  I'm 
rid  of  one  scoundrel." 

"I  wonder  if  you  are,  Homer,"  musei  his  friend. 
"Maybe  you'd  better  have  let  him  down  easy.  Joe 
Yankie  is  as  revengeful  as  an  Injun." 

"Let  him  down  easy!"  exploded  the  cattleman. 
"When  he's  just  pulled  off  a  raw  deal  by  which  I 
lose  a  bunch  of  forty  fat  three-year-olds.  I  ought 
to  have  gunned  him  in  his  tracks." 

"If  you  had  proof,  but  you  have  n't.  It's  a  right 


200  A  Man  Four-Square 

doubtful  policy  for  a  man  to  stir  up  a  rattler  till  it's 
crazy,  then  to  turn  it  loose  in  his  bedroom." 

The  Missourian  turned  to  the  business  of  the 
hour.  "We'll  get  a  posse  out  after  the  rustlers 
right  away,  Dad.  I'll  see  the  boys  an'  you  hus- 
tle up  some  rifles  and  ammunition." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  saw  the  dust  of  the  cow- 
punchers  taking  the  trail  for  the  berrendo. 

"I'll  ride  down  an'  get  Billie  Prince  started  after 
'em.  I  can  go  with  his  posse  as  a  deputy,"  sug- 
gested the  ranchman. 

To  save  Webb's  time,  Dad  rode  a  few  miles  with 
him  while  the  cattleman  outlined  to  him  the  policj 
he  wanted  pursued. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  they  met, 
not  far  from  Ten  Sleep,  a  rider.  The  cattleman 
looked  at  him  grimly.  In  the  Washington  Countj 
War  just  ended,  this  young  fellow  had  been  the 
leading  gunman  of  the  Snaith-McRobert  faction. 
If  the  current  rumors  were  true  he  was  now  making 
an  easy  living  in  the  chaparral. 

The  rider  drew  up,  nodded  a  greeting  to  Wray- 
burn,  and  grinned  with  cool  nonchalance  at  Webb. 
He  knew  from  report  in  what  esteem  he  was  held 
by  the  owner  of  the  Flying  V  Y  brand. 

"Yankie  up  at  the  ranch?"  he  asked. 

"What  do  you  want  with  him?  "  demanded  Webb 
brusquely. 

"I  got  a  message  for  him." 

"Who  from?" 

Clan  ton  was  conscious  of  some  irritation  against 
this  sharp  catechism.  In  point  of  fact  Billie  Prince 


A  Man  Four-Square  201 

had  asked  him  to  notify  Yankie  that  he  had  heard 
of  the  rustling  on  the  berrendo  and  was  taking  the 
trail  at  once.  But  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  be  driven  by  compulsion.  He 
had  been  ready  to  tell  Webb  the  message  Billie  had 
given  him  for  Yankie,  but  he  was  not  ready  to  tell 
it  until  the  Missourian  moderated  his  tone. 

"Mebbe  that's  my  business  —  an'  his,  Mr. 
Webb,"  he  said. 

"An'  mine  too  —  if  you've  come  to  tell  him  how 
slick  you  pulled  that  trick  on  the  berrendo." 

Jim  stiffened  at  once.  "To  Halifax  with  you  an' 
yore  cattle,  Webb.  Do  you  claim  I  rustled  that 
bunch  of  beeves  last  night?" 

"I  see  you  know  all  about  it?"  retorted  Webb 
with  heavy  sarcasm. 

"Mebbeso.  I'm  not  askin'  yore  permission  to 
live  —  not  just  yet." 

Webb  flushed  dark  with  anger.  "You've  got  a 
nerve,  young  fellow,  to  go  up  to  my  ranch  after  last 
night's  business.  Unless  you  want  to  have  yore  pelt 
hung  up  to  dry,  keep  away  from  any  of  the  Flying 
V  Y  ranges.  As  for  Yankie,  if  you  go  back  to  yore 
hole  you'll  likely  find  him.  I  kicked  the  hound  out 
two  hours  ago." 

"Like  you  did  me  three  years  ago,"  suggested 
Clanton,  looking  straight  at  the  grizzled  cowman, 
"Webb,  you're  the  high  mogul  here  since  you  fixed 
it  up  with  the  Government  to  send  its  cavalry  to 
back  yore  play  against  our  faction.  You  act  like 
we've  got  to  knock  our  heads  in  the  dust  three 
times  when  we  meet  up  with  you.  Don't  you  think 


202  A  Man  Four-Square 

it.  Don't  you  think  it  for  a  minute.  If  I  've  rustled 
yore  cattle,-  prove  it.  Until  then  padlock  yore 
tongue,  or  you  an'  me '11  mix  it." 

"You're  threatenin'  me,  eh?" 

"If  that's  what  you  want  to  call  it." 

"You're  a  killer,  I'm  told,"  flashed  back  Webb 
hotly.  "Now  listen  to  me.  You  an'  yore  kind  be- 
long in  the  penitentiary,  an'  that 's  where  the  honest 
folks  of  Washington  County  are  goin'  to  send  you 
soon.  Give  me  half  a  chance  an'  I  '11  offer  a  reward 
of  ten  thousand  dollars  for  you  alive  or  dead.  That's 
the  way  to  get  rid  of  gunmen." 

"Is  it?"  Clanton  laughed  mockingly.  "You  ad- 
vise the  fellow  that  tries  to  collect  that  reward  to 
get  his  life  insured  heavy  for  his  widow." 

If  this  was  a  boast,  it  was  also  a  warning.  Jimmie- 
Go-Get-'Em  may  not  have  been  the  best  target 
shot  on  the  border,  but  give  him  a  man  behind  a 
spitting  revolver  as  his  mark  and  he  could  throw 
bullets  with  swifter,  deadlier  accuracy  than  any 
old-timer  of  them  all.  He  did  not  take  the  time  to 
aim;  it  was  enough  for  him  to  look  at  his  opponent 
as  he  fired. 

The  young  fellow  swung  his  horse  expertly  and 
cantered  into  the  mesquite. 

"I'll  give  you  two  months  before  you're  wiped 
off  the  map,"  the  cattleman  called  after  him  angrily. 

At  the  edge  of  a  heavy  growth  of  brush  Clanton 
pulled  up,  flashed  a  six-shooter,  and  dropped  two 
bullets  in  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the  horses  in  the 
road.  Then,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he  laughed 
derisively  and  plunged  into  the  chaparral. 


A  Man  Four-Square  20$ 

Webb,  stung  to  irritable  action,  fired  into  the 
cholla  and  the  arrowweed  thickets.  Shot  after 
shot  he  sent  at  the  man  who  had  disappeared  in  the 
maze. 

"Let  him  go,  Homer.  You're  well  quit  of  him," 
urged  Wrayburn. 

The  words  were  still  on  his  lips  when  out  of  the 
dense  tangle  of  vegetation  rang  a  shot.  The  owner 
of  the  Flying  V  Y  clutched  at  his  saddle-horn.  A 
spasmodic  shudder  shook  the  heavy  body  and  it 
began  to  sink. 

Wrayburn  ran  to  help.  He  was  in  time  to  catch 
his  friend  as  he  fell,  but  before  he  could  lower  the 
inert  weight  to  the  ground  the  life  of  Homer  Webb 
had  flickered  out. 


Chapter  XXIV 

Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  Leaves  a  Note 

Prince  and  his  posse  were  camped  in  a  little  park 
near  the  headquarters  of  Saco  de  Oro  Creek  when 
a  trapper  brought  word  to  Billie  of  the  death  of 
Webb.  The  heart  of  the  young  sheriff  sank  at  the 
news.  It  was  not  only  that  he  had  always  liked  and 
admired  the  bluff  cattleman.  What  shocked  him 
more  was  that  Jim  Clanton  had  killed  him.  Webb 
was  one  of  the  most  popular  ranchmen  on  the  river. 
There  would  be  an  instant,  widespread  demand  for 
the  arrest  and  conviction  of  his  slayer.  Billie  had 
taken  an  oath  to  uphold  the  law.  His  clear  duty 
was  to  go  out  and  capture  Jim  alive  or  dead. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  Billie  doubt  what  he  would 
do.  He  had  pledged  himself  to  blot  out  the  "bad 
man,"  and  he  would  go  through  no  matter  what 
the  cost  to  his  personal  feelings. 

A  slow  anger  at  Clanton  burned  in  him.  WTiy 
had  he  done  this  wanton  and  lawless  thing?  The 
boy  he  had  known  three  years  ago  would  never 
have  shot  down  from  cover  a  man  like  Webb.  That 
he  could  have  done  it  now  marked  the  progress  of 
the  deterioration  of  his  moral  fiber.  What  right 
had  he  to  ask  those  who  remained  loyal  to  him  to 
sacrifice  so  often  their  sense  of  right  in  his  favor? 

The  old  intimacy  between  Billie  and  Jim  had 
long  since  waned.  They  were  traveling  different 
roads  these  days.  But  though  they  were  no  longer 


A  Man  Four-Square  205 

chums  their  friendship  endured.  When  they  met, 
a  warm  affection  lit  the  eyes  of  both.  It  had  sur- 
vived the  tug  of  diverse  interests,  the  intervention 
of  long  separations,  the  conflict  born  of  the  love  of 
women.  Would  it  stand  without  breaking  this  new 
test  of  its  strength? 

With  a  little  nod  to  Goodheart  the  sheriff  retired 
from  the  camp-fire.  His  deputy  joined  him  pres- 
ently on  a  hillside  overlooking  the  creek. 

"I'm  goin'  back  to  Live-Oaks  to-night,  Jack," 
announced  Prince.  "You'd  better  stay  here  a  few 
days  an'  hunt  through  these  gulches.  Since  that 
rain  yesterday  there's  not  one  chance  in  fifty  of 
runnin'  down  the  rustlers,  but  you  might  happen 
to  stumble  on  the  place  where  they've  got  the 
cattle  cached." 

"You're  goin'  down  about  this  Webb  murder?" 

"Yes.  I'm  goin' to  work  out  some  plans.  It  will 
take  some  strategy  to  land  Clanton.  He 's  lived  out 
in  the  hills  for  years  an'  he  knows  every  foot  of 
cover  in  the  country." 

Goodheart  assented.  To  go  blindly  out  into  the 
mesquite  after  the  young  outlaw  would  have  been 
as  futile  as  to  reach  a  hand  toward  the  stars  with 
the  hope  of  plucking  a  gold-piece  from  the  air. 

"  Watch  the  men  he  trains  with.  Keep  an  eye  on 
the  Elephant  Corral  an'  check  up  on  him  when  he 
rides  in  to  Los  Portales.  Spot  the  tendejon  at  Point 
o'  Rocks  where  he  has  a  hang-out.  Unless  he  has 
left  the  country  he'll  show  up  one  of  these  days." 

"That's  what  I  think,  Jack,  an'  I  'm  confident  he 
has  n't  gone.   He  has  a  reason  for  stayin'  here." 


206  A  Man  Four-Square 

Goodheart  could  have  put  a  name  to  the  reason. 
It  was  a  fair  enough  reason  to  have  held  either  him 
or  the  sheriff  under  the  same  circumstances. 

"How  about  a  reward?  He  trains  with  a  crowd 
I  'd  hate  to  trust  farther  than  I  could  throw  a  bull 
by  the  tail.  Some  of  'em  would  sell  their  own 
mothers  for  gold." 

"I'll  get  in  touch  with  Webb's  family  an'  see  if 
they  won't  offer  a  big  reward  for  information  lead- 
ing to  the  arrest  of  the  murderer." 

Within  the  week  every  crossroads  store  in  the 
county  had  tacked  to  it  a  placard  offering  a  reward 
of  five  thousand  dollars  for  the  man  who  had  killed 
Homer  Webb. 

No  applications  for  it  came  in  at  first. 

"Wait,"  said  Goodheart,  smiling.  "More  than 
one  yellow  dog  has  licked  its  jaws  hungrily  before 
that  poster.  Some  dark  night  the  yellowest  one  will 
sneak  in  here  to  see  you." 

On  the  main  street  of  Los  Portales  one  evening 
Billie  met  Pauline  Roubideau.  She  came  at  him 
with  a  direct  frontal  attack. 

"I've  had  a  letter  from  Jim  Clanton." 

The  sheriff  did  not  ask  her  where  it  was  post- 
marked. He  did  not  want  any  information  from 
Polly  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  her  friend. 

'You're  one  ahead  of  me  then.    I  haven't," 
answered  Prince. 

"He  says  he  did  n't  do  it." 

"Do  what?" 

"Shoot  Mr.  Webb.  And  I  know  he  did  n't  if  he 
s  he  did  n't." 


A  Man  Four-Square  207 

The  grave  eyes  of  the  young  man  met  hers.  "  But 
Dad  Wrayburn  was  there.  He  saw  the  whole  af- 
fair." 

Pauline  brushed  this  aside  with  superb  faith.  "I 
don't  care.  Jim  never  lied  to  me  in  his  life.  I  know 
he  did  n't  do  it  —  and  it  makes  me  so  glad." 

The  young  man  envied  her  the  faith  that  could 
reject  evidence  as  though  it  did  not  exist.  The  Jim 
Clanton  she  had  once  known  would  not  have  lied 
to  her.  Therefore  the  Jim  Clanton  she  knew  now 
was  worthy  of  perfect  trust.  If  there  was  any  flaw 
in  that  logic  the  sweet  and  gallant  heart  of  the  girl 
did  not  find  it. 

But  Billie  had  talked  with  Dad  Wrayburn.  He 
had  ridden  out  and  gone  over  the  ground  with  a 
fine-tooth  comb.  Webb  had  been  killed  by  a  bullet 
from  a  forty-four.  Of  his  own  knowledge  Prince 
knew  that  Clanton  was  carrying  a  weapon  of  this 
caliber  only  three  hours  before  the  killing.  There 
was  no  escape  from  the  conviction  of  the  guilt  of 
his  friend. 

The  sheriff  walked  back  to  the  hotel  where  he 
was  staying.  On  the  way  his  mind  was  full  of  the 
young  woman  he  had  just  left.  He  had  never  liked 
her  better,  never  admired  her  more.  But,  somehow 
—  and  for  the  first  time  he  realized  it  — •  there  was 
no  longer  any  sting  in  the  thought  of  her.  He  did 
not  have  to  fight  against  any  unworthy  jealousy 
because  of  her  interest  in  Clanton.  Of  late  he  had 
been  very  busy.  It  struck  him  now  that  his  mind 
had  been  much  less  preoccupied  with  the  thought 
of  her  than  it  used  to  be.   He  supposed  there  was 


208  A  Man  Four-Square 

such  a  thing  as  falling  out  of  love.  Perhaps  he  was 
in  process  of  doing  that  now. 

Bud  Proctor,  a  tall  young  stripling,  met  Prince 
on  the  porch  of  the  hotel. 

"Buck  Sanders  was  here  to  see  you,  sheriff,"  the 
boy  said. 

Since  the  days  when  he  had  been  segundo  of  the 
Snaith-McRobert  outfit  Sanders  had  declined  in  the 
world.  Like  many  of  his  kind  he  had  taken  to  drink, 
become  bitten  with  the  desire  to  get  rich  without 
working,  and  operated  inconspicuously  in  the  cha- 
parral with  a  branding  iron.  Much  water  had 
poured  down  the  bed  of  the  Pecos  in  the  past  three 
years.  The  disagreement  between  him  and  Clan- 
ton  had  long  since  been  patched  up  and  they  had 
lately  been  together  a  great  deal. 

Prince  went  up  to  his  room,  threw  off  his  coat, 
and  began  to  prepare  some  papers  he  had  to  send 
to  the  Governor.  He  was  interrupted  by  a  knock 
at  the  door. 

Sanders  opened  at  the  sheriff's  invitation,  shoved 
in  his  head,  looked  around  the  room  warily,  and 
sidled  in  furtively.  He  closed  the  door. 

"Mind  if  I  lock  it?"  he  asked. 

The  sheriff  nodded.  His  eyes  fixed  themselves  in- 
tently on  the  man.   "Go  as  far  as  you  like." 

The  visitor  hung  his  hat  over  the  keyhole  and 
moved  forward  to  the  table.  His  close-set  eyes 
gripped  those  of  the  sheriff. 

"What  about  this  reward  stuff?"  he  asked 
harshly. 

An  instant  resentment  surged  up  in  Billie's  heart. 


A  Man  Four-Square  209 

He  knew  now  why  this  fellow  had  come  to  see  him 
secretly.  It  was  his  duty  to  get  all  the  information 
he  could  about  Clanton.  He  had  to  deal  with  this 
man  who  wanted  to  sell  his  comrade,  but  he  did  not 
relish  the  business. 

"You  can  read,  can't  you,  Sanders?"  he  asked 
ungraciously. 

"Where's  the  money?"  snarled  his  guest. 

"It's  in  the  bank." 

"Sure?" 

From  his  pocket-book  Billie  took  a  bank  deposit 
slip.  He  put  it  on  the  table  where  the  other  man 
could  look  it  over. 

"Would  a  man  have  to  wait  for  the  reward  until 
Clanton  was  convicted?"  the  traitor  asked  roughly. 

"A  thousand  would  be  paid  as  soon  as  the  arrest 
was  made,  the  rest  when  he  was  convicted,"  said 
Prince  coldly. 

"Will  you  put  that  in  writin',  Mr.  Sheriff?" 

The  chill  eyes  of  the  officer  drilled  into  those  of 
the  rustler.  He  drew  a  pad  toward  him  and  wrote 
a  few  lines,  then  shoved  the  tablet  of  paper  toward 
Sanders.  The  latter  tore  off  the  sheet  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket. 

Sanders  spoke  again,  abruptly.  "Understand  one 
thing,  Prince.  I  don't  have  to  take  part  in  the 
arrest.  I  only  tell  you  where  to  find  him." 

"And  take  me  to  the  spot,"  added  the  sheriff. 
"I'll  do  the  arrestin'." 

"  Whyfor  must  I  take  you  there  if  I  tell  you  whore 
to  go?" 

"You  want  a  good  deal  for  your  white  alley, 


210  A  Man  Four-Square 

Sanders,"  returned  the  other  contemptuously, 
"I'm  to  take  all  the  chances  an'  you  are  to  drag 
down  the  reward.  That  listens  good.  Nothin'  to 
it.  You'll  ride  right  beside  me;  then  if  anything 
goes  wrong,  you'll  be  where  I  can  ask  you  ques- 
tions." 

"Do  you  think  I'm  double-crossin'  you?  Is  that 
it?"  flushed  the  ex-foreman  of  the  Lazy  S  M. 

"I  don't  know.  It  might  be  Clanton  you're 
double-crossin',  or  it  might  be  me,"  said  the  sheriff 
with  cynical  insolence.  "But  if  I 'm  the  bird  you 've 
made  a  poor  choice.  In  case  we  're  ambushed,  you  '11 
be  in  nice,  easy  reach  of  my  gun." 

"Do  I  look  like  a  fool? "  snapped  Sanders.  "I 'm 
out  for  the  dough.  I  'm  takin'  you  to  Clanton  be- 
cause I  need  the  money." 

"Mebbeso.  You  won't  need  it  long  if  you  throw 
me  down."  Then  abruptly,  the  sheriff  dropped  into 
the  manner  of  dry  business.  "Get  down  to  tacks, 
man.  Where  is  Clanton's  hang-out?" 

Buck  sat  down  and  drew  a  sketch  roughly  on  the 
tablet.  "Cross  the  river  at  Blazer's  Ford,  cut  over 
the  hills  to  Ojo  Caliente,  an'  swing  to  the  east.  He 's 
about  four  miles  from  Round  Top  in  an  old  dug- 
out. Maybe  you've  heard  of  Saguaro  Canon.  Well, 
he's  holed  up  in  a  little  gulch  runnin'  into  it." 

By  daybreak  next  morning  the  sheriff's  posse 
was  in  the  saddle.  In  addition  to  Sanders,  who  rode 
beside  Billie  unarmed,  Goodheart  and  two  special 
deputies  made  up  the  party. 

The  sun  was  riding  high  when  they  reached  Ojo 
Caliente.    The  party  bore  eastward,  following  a 


A  Man  Four-Square  211 

maze  of  washes,  arroyos,  and  gorges.  It  was  well 
into  the  afternoon  when  the  informer  ventured  a 
suggestion. 

"  We  're  close  enough.  Better  light  here  an'  sneak 
forward  on  foot,"  the  man  said  gruffly. 

As  he  swung  from  the  horse  Billie  smiled  grimly. 
He  had  a  plan  of  his  own  which  he  meant  to  try. 
Buck  Sanders  might  not  like  it,  but  he  was  not  in 
a  position  to  make  any  serious  objection. 

They  crept  forward  to  a  rim  rock  above  a  heavily 
wooded  slope.  A  tongue-shaped  grove  ran  down 
close  to  the  edge  of  a  narrow  gulch. 

Prince  explained  what  he  meant  to  do.  "We'll 
all  snake  down  closer.  When  I  give  the  word  you  '11 
go  forward  alone,  Sanders,  an'  call  Jim  out.  Ask 
him  to  come  forward  an'  look  at  yore  bronco's  hoof. 
That's  all  you'll  have  to  do." 

Sanders  voiced  a  profane  and  vigorous  protest. 
"Have  you  forgot  who  this  guy  is  you're  arrestin'? 
Go-Get-'Em  Jim  is  no  tenderfoot  kid.  He's  chain 
lightnin'  on  the  shoot.  If  he  suspects  me  one 
steenth  part  of  a  second,  that  will  be  long  enough 
for  him  to  gun  me  good." 

"  He  '11  not  have  a  chance.  We  '11  have  him  covered 
all  the  time." 

"Say,  we  agreed  you  was  goin'  to  make  this  ar* 
rest,  not  me." 

"I'll  make  it.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  call  him 
out." 

"All!"  shrieked  Sanders.  "You  know  damned 
well  I'm  takin'  the  big  risk." 

"That's   the   way   I   intended  it  to  be,"   the 


212  A  Man  Four-Square 

sheriff  assured  him  coolly.  "You're  to  get  the  re* 
ward,  aren't  you?" 

The  rustler  balked.  He  polluted  the  air  with  low, 
vicious  curses,  but  in  the  end  he  had  to  come  to 
time. 

They  slipped  through  the  grove  till  they  could 
see  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine  a  dug-out.  Prince 
flashed  a  handkerchief  as  a  signal  and  Sanders  rode 
down  in  the  open  skirting  the  timber.  He  swung 
from  the  saddle  and  shouted  a  "Hello,  in  the 
house ! " 

No  answer  came.  Buck  called  a  second  and  a 
third  time.  He  waited,  irresolute.  He  could  not 
consult  with  Prince.  At  last  he  moved  toward  the 
house  and  entered.  Presently  he  returned  to  the 
door  and  waved  to  the  sheriff  to  come  forward. 

Very  cautiously  the  posse  accepted  the  invita- 
tion, but  every  foot  of  the  way  Billie  kept  the  man 
covered. 

Sanders  ripped  out  a  furious  oath.  "He's  done 
made  his  get-away.  Some  one  must  'a'  warned 
him." 

He  held  out  to  Prince  a  note  scrawled  on  a  piece 
of  wrapping-paper.  It  was  in  Clanton's  pell-mell, 
huddled  chirography:  — 

Sony  I  can't  stay  to  entertain  you,  Billie.  Make  yourself 
at  home.  Bacon  and  other  grub  in  a  lard  can  by  the  creek. 
Help  yourself. 

Crack  Sanders  one  on  the  bean  with  your  six-gun  on  ac- 
count for  me. 

Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em. 


Chapter  XXV 

The  Mal-Pais 

Billie  Prince  laughed.  The  joke  was  on  him,  but 
he  was  glad  of  it.  As  sheriff  of  Washington  County 
it  had  been  his  duty  to  accept  any  aid  that  might 
come  from  the  treachery  of  Sanders;  but  as  a  friend 
of  Jim  Clanton  he  did  not  want  to  win  over  him  by 
using  such  weapons. 

"Tickled  to  death,  ain't  you?"  snapped  the  ex- 
foreman  sourly.  "Looks  to  me  like  you  did  n*t 
want  to  make  this  arrest,  Mr.  Sheriff.  Looks  to  me 
like  some  one  else  has  been  doin'  some  double- 
crossin'  besides  me." 

"Naturally  you'd  think  that,"  cut  in  Goodheart 
dryly.  "The  facts  probably  are  that  Go-Get-'Em 
Jim,  knowin'  his  friends  pretty  well,  had  you 
watched,  found  out  you  called  on  the  sheriff,  an' 
guessed  the  rest.   He's  not  a  fool,  you  know." 

"That's  right.  Git  ready  an  alibi,"  Sanders 
snarled. 

Casually  Goodheart  picked  up  the  piece  of  wrap- 
ping-paper upon  which  the  note  had  been  written. 
He  read  aloud  the  last  sentence. 

"'Crack  Sanders  one  on  the  bean  with  your 
six-gun  on  account  for  me.'  Seems  to  me  if  I  was 
you,  Buck,  I'd  alibi  myself  down  the  river  into 
Texas  as  quick  as  I  could  jog  a  bronco  along.  But, 
of  course,  I  don't  know  yore  friend  Go-Get-'Em  as 
well  as  you  do.  Mebbe  you  '11  be  able  to  explain  it 


£14  A  Man  Four-Square 

to  him.  Tell  him  you  were  hard  up  an'  needed  the 
money." 

The  eyes  of  the  rustler  flashed  from  Goodheart  to 
the  sheriff.  They  were  full  of  sinister  suspicion. 
Had  these  men  arranged  to  deliver  him  into  the 
hands  of  Clanton?  Was  he  himself  going  to  fall  into 
the  pit  he  had  dug? 

"Gimme  back  my  gun  an'  I'm  not  afraid  of  him 
or  any  of  you,"  he  bluffed. 

"You'll  get  yore  gun  when  we  reach  Los  Por- 
tales,"  Prince  told  him.   "I  left  it  in  my  office." 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  Los  Portales." 

"All  right.  Leave  yore  address  and  I'll  send 
the  gun  by  the  buckboard  driver." 

All  the  bafHed  hate  and  cupidity  of  Sanders 
glared  out  of  his  wolfish  face.  "I'll  let  you  know 
later  where  I'm  at." 

He  straddled  out  of  the  house,  pulled  himself 
astride  the  waiting  horse,  and  rode  up  the  hill. 
Presently  he  disappeared  over  the  crest. 

"Much  obliged,  Jack,"  said  Prince,  smiling. 
"Exit  Mr.  Buck  Sanders  from  New  Mexico.  Our 
loss  is  Texas's  gain.  Chalk  up  one  bad  man  emi- 
grated from  Washington  County." 

"He's  sure  goin'  to  take  my  advice,"  agreed  the 
lank  deputy.  A  little  chuckle  of  amusement  es- 
caped from  his  throat.  "To  the  day  of  his  death 
he'll  think  we  sent  word  to  Go-Get-'Em  Jim.  I'll 
bet  my  next  pay-check  against  a  dollar  Mex  that  he 
forgets  to  send  you  that  address." 

Billie  availed  himself  of  the  invitation  of  Clanton 
to  make  himself  at  home.   He  and  his  posse  spent 


A  Man  Four-Square  215 

the  night  in  the  dug-out  and  returned  to  Los  Por- 
tales  next  day.  For  the  better  part  of  a  week  he  was 
detained  there  on  business,  after  which  he  took  the 
stage  to  Live-Oaks. 

News  was  waiting  for  Prince  at  the  county  seat 
that  led  him  for  a  time  to  forget  the  existence  of 
Clanton.  The  buckboard  driver  from  El  Paso  re- 
ported the  worst  sand-storm  he  had  ever  encoun- 
tered. It  had  struck  him  a  mile  or  two  this  side  of 
the  Mal-Pais,  as  the  great  lava  beds  in  the  Tularosa 
Basin  are  commonly  called.  He  had  unhitched  the 
horses,  overturned  the  buckboard,  and  huddled  in 
the  shelter  of  the  bed.  There  he  had  lain  crouched 
for  ten  hours  while  the  drifting  sand,  fine  as  pow- 
der, blotted  out  the  world  and  buried  him  in  drifts. 
He  was  an  old  plainsman,  tough  as  leather,  and  he 
had  weathered  the  storm  safely.  A  full  day  late  he 
staggered  into  Live-Oaks  a  sorry  sight. 

The  news  that  shook  Live-Oaks  into  swift  ac- 
tivity had  to  do  with  Lee  Snaith.  Just  before  the 
storm  hit  him  the  buckboard  driver  had  met  her 
riding  toward  the  Mal-Pais. 

Prince  arrived  to  find  the  town  upside  down 
with  the  confusion  of  preparation.  Swiftly  he 
brought  order  out  of  the  turmoil.  He  organized 
the  rescue  party,  assigned  leaders  to  the  divisions, 
saw  that  each  man  was  properly  outfitted,  and 
mapped  off  the  territory  to  be  covered  by  each 
posse.  Outwardly  he  was  cool,  efficient,  full  of 
hopeful  energy.  But  at  his  heart  Billie  felt  an  icy 
clutch  of  despair.  What  chance  was  there  for  Lee, 
caught  unsheltered  in  the  open,  when  the  wiry,  old 


216  A  Man  Four-Square 

Indian  fighter,  protected  by  his  wagon,  had  barely 
won  through  alive? 

Every  horse  in  Live-Oaks  that  could  be  ridden 
was  in  the  group  that  melted  into  the  night  to  find 
Lee  Snaith.  Every  living  soul  left  in  the  little  town 
was  on  the  street  to  cheer  the  rescuers. 

The  sheriff  divided  his  men.  Most  of  them  were 
to  spend  the  night,  and  if  necessary  the  next  day 
and  night,  in  combing  the  sand  desert  east  of  the 
Mal-Pais.  Here  Lee  had  last  been  seen,  and  here 
probably  she  had  wandered  round  and  round  until 
the  storm  had  beaten  her  down.  It  took  little  imag- 
ination to  vision  the  girl,  flailed  by  the  sweeping 
sand,  bewildered  by  it,  choked  at  every  gasping 
breath,  hopelessly  lost  in  the  tempest. 

Yet  some  bell  of  hope  rang  in  Billie's  breast.  She 
might  have  reached  the  lava.  If  so,  there  was  a 
chance  that  she  might  be  alive.  For  though  the 
wind  had  sweep  enough  here,  the  fine  dust-sand  of 
the  alluvial  plain  could  not  be  carried  so  densely 
into  this  rock-sea.  Perhaps  she  had  slipped  into  a 
fissure  and  found  safety. 

For  fifty  miles  this  great  igneous  bed  stretches, 
a  rough  and  broken  sea  of  stone,  across  the  thirsty 
desert.  Its  texture  is  like  that  of  slag  from  a  fur- 
nace. Once,  in  the  morning  of  the  world,  it  flowed 
from  the  crater  along  the  line  of  least  resistance,  a 
vitreous  river  of  fire.  In  a  great  molten  mass  it 
swept  into  the  valleys,  crawling  like  a  great  snake 
here  and  there,  pushing  fiery  tongues  into  every 
crevice  of  the  hills. 

The  margin  of  its  flow  is  a  cliff  or  steep  slope 


A  Man  Four-Square  £17 

varying  in  height  from  a  few  feet  to  that  of  a  good- 
sized  tree.  Between  the  silt  plain  and  the  general 
level  of  its  bed  rises  a  terrace.  In  front  of  it  Prince 
stopped  and  distributed  the  men  he  had  reserved 
to  search  the  lava  bed.  He  gave  definite,  peremp- 
tory orders. 

"We'll  keep  about  two  hundred  yards  apart. 
Every  twenty  minutes  each  of  you  will  fire  his 
revolver.  If  any  of  you  find  Miss  Snaith  or  any 
evidence  of  her,  shoot  three  times  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. Each  of  you  pass  the  signal  down  the  line 
by  firing  four  shots.  Those  who  hear  the  three 
shots  go  in  as  fast  as  you  can  to  the  rescue.  The 
others  —  those  farther  away,  who  hear  the  four 
shots  only  —  will  turn  an'  work  back  to  the  plain, 
continuing  to  fire  once  every  twenty  minutes.  Do 
exactly  as  I  tell  you,  boys.  If  you  don't,  some  one 
will  be  lost  an'  may  never  get  out  alive.  If  any  one 
of  you  gets  out  of  touch  with  the  rest  of  us,  stay 
right  where  you  are  till  mornin',  then  come  out  by 
the  sun." 

The  horses  were  left  in  charge  of  a  Mexican  boy. 
The  surface  of  the  deposit  is  so  broken  that  even  a 
man  on  foot  has  difficulty  in  traversing  it.  Prince 
crawled  forward  from  the  terrace  up  the  rough 
slope  of  the  cliff  which  at  this  point  bounded  it. 
At  the  top  of  the  rim  he  rose  and  came  face  to  face 
with  another  man. 

"A  good  deal  like  frozen  hell,  Billie,"  the  other 
said  casually. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  demanded  the 
sheriff,  amazed. 


218  A  Man  Four-Square 

Jim  Clanton  laughed  grimly.  "I've  been  with 
yore  party  half  an  hour.  Why  should  n't  I  be  here 
when  Lee  Snaith  is  lost?  " 

"You  were  hiding  in  Live-Oaks  ?" 

"Mebbeso.  Anyway,  I'm  here.  I'll  take  the 
right  flank,  Billie." 

"Do  you  think  there's  a  chance,  Jim?"  The 
voice  of  Prince  shook  with  emotion.  It  was  the  first 
sign  of  distress  he  had  given. 

Clanton  reflected  just  a  moment  before  he  an- 
swered. "I  think  there's  just  a  chance.  She  saved 
our  lives  onct,  Billie.  If  she's  alive  we'll  find  her, 
you  an'  me." 

"By  God,  yes."  Prince  turned  away.  He  could 
not  talk  about  it  without  breaking  down. 

In  the  stress  of  a  great  shock  Billie  had  made  a 
vital  discovery.  The  most  important  thing  that 
would  ever  come  to  him  in  life  was  to  find  Lee 
Snaith  alive.  How  blind  he  had  been!  He  could 
see  her  now  in  imagination,  as  in  reality  he  had 
seen  her  a  hundred  times,  moving  in  the  sun-pour 
with  elastic  tread,  full-throated  and  deep-chested, 
athrob  with  life  in  every  generous  vein.  How  pas- 
sionately she  had  loved  things  brave  and  true !  How 
anger  had  flamed  up  in  her  like  fire  among  tow  at 
meanness  and  hypocrisy.  Surely  all  the  beauty  of 
her  person,  the  fineness  of  her  character,  could  not 
be  blotted  out  so  wantonly.  If  there  was  any  econ- 
omy in  his  world  God  would  never  permit  waste 
like  that. 

He  wanted  her.  His  soul  cried  out  for  her. 
Blindly  and  stormily  he  prayed  that  he  might  find 


A  Man  Four-Square  219 

her  alive  and  well,  that  the  chance  might  still  be 
given  him  to  tell  her  how  much  he  loved  her. 

Sometimes  he  covered  small  distances  where  the 
flow  structure  was  comparatively  smooth,  broken 
only  by  minor  irregularities.  Again  he  came  to 
abrupt  pits,  deep  caverns,  tumbled  heaps  of  broken 
slabs,  or  jagged  chunks  of  lava  twisted  into  strange 
shapes.  No  doubt  the  volcanic  flow  had  hardened 
to  a  crust  on  top,  cracked,  and  sunk  into  the  furnace 
below.  This  process  must  have  gone  on  indefinitely. 

He  crept  from  slab  to  slab,  pulled  himself  across 
chasms,  worked  slowly  forward  in  the  darkness.  At 
intervals  he  fired  and  listened  for  an  answer.  Oc- 
casionally there  drifted  to  him  the  sound  of  a  shot 
from  one  of  the  other  searchers.  As  the  hours 
passed  and  brought  to  him  no  signal  that  the  girl 
had  been  found,  his  hopes  ebbed.  It  was  very  un- 
likely that  she  could  have  wandered  so  far  into  the 
bad  lands  as  this. 

He  shuddered  to  think  of  her  alone  in  this  vast 
tomb  of  death.  Suppose  she  were  here  and  they 
never  found  her.  Suppose  she  were  asleep  when  he 
passed,  worn  out  by  terror  and  exhaustion.  His 
voice  grew  hoarse  from  shouting.  Sometimes,  when 
the  thought  of  her  fate  would  become  an  agony  to 
him,  he  could  hardly  keep  his  shout  from  rising  to 
a  scream. 

Billie  struck  a  match  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
It  was  five  minutes  past  three.  A  faint  gray  was 
beginning  to  sift  into  the  sky.  He  had  been  nearly 
seven  hours  in  the  Mal-Pais.  Out  in  God's  country 
the  world  would  soon  be  shaking  sleep  from  its  eyes.. 


220  A  Man  Four-Square 

In  this  death  zone  there  was  neither  waking  nor 
sleeping.  "Frozen  hell,"  Clanton  had  called  it. 
Prince  shuddered. 

The  flare  of  the  match  had  showed  him  that  he 
was  standing  close  to  the  edge  of  a  fissure.  In  the 
darkness  he  could  not  see  to  the  bottom  of  it. 

A  faint  breath  of  a  whimper  floated  to  him.  He 
grew  rigid,  every  nerve  taut.  He  dared  not  let  him- 
self believe  it  could  be  real.  Of  course  he  was  imag- 
ining sounds.  Presently,  no  doubt,  he  would  hear 
voices.  In  this  devil's  caldron  a  man  could  not  stay 
quite  sane. 

Again,  as  if  from  below  his  feet,  was  lifted  a 
strangled,  little  sob. 

"Lee!"  he  called  huskily  with  what  was  left  of 
his  voice. 

Something  in  the  cavern  moved.  By  means  of 
outcropping  spars  of  rock  he  lowered  himself 
swiftly. 

The  darkness  was  Stygian.  He  struck  another 
match. 

From  the  gloom  beyond  the  space  lit  by  the 
small  flame  came  the  rustle  of  something  stirring. 
The  match  burned  out.  He  lit  another  and  groped 
forward.   His  foot  struck  an  impediment. 

He  looked  down  into  the  startled  eyes  and  white 
face  of  Lee  Snaith. 


Chapter  XXVI 

A  Dust-Storm 

It  had  been  a  beautiful  day  of  sunshine  when  Lee 
left  Live-Oaks  to  ride  to  the  Ninety-Four  Ranch. 
Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred.  The  desert  slept  in  a 
warm,  golden  bath.  It  was  peaceful  as  old  age. 

But  as  the  sun  slipped  past  the  meridian,  gusts 
swept  across  the  sands  and  whipped  into  the  air 
inverted  cones  that  whirled  like  vast  tops  in  a  wild 
race  to  nowhere.  The  air  waves  became  more  fre- 
quent and  more  furious.  When  Lee  passed  the 
buckboard  driver,  the  whole  desert  seemed  alive 
with  stinging  sand. 

He  called  something  to  her  that  was  lost  in  the 
wind.  The  girl  waved  at  him  a  gauntleted  hand. 
She  had  been  out  in  dust-storms  before  and  was  not 
in  the  least  alarmed.  Across  the  lower  part  of  her 
face  she  had  tied  a  silk  handkerchief  to  protect  her 
mouth  and  nostrils  from  the  sand. 

The  mail  carrier  had  scarcely  disappeared  before 
the  fury  of  the  wind  increased.  It  lashed  the  ground 
with  heavy  whips,  raging  and  screaming  in  shrill, 
whistling  frenzy,  until  the  desert  rose  in  terror  and 
began  to  shift. 

Lee  bent  her  head  to  escape  the  sand  that  filled 
her  eyes  and  nostrils  and  beat  upon  her  cheeks  so 
unmercifully.  She  thought  perhaps  the  tempest 
would  abate  soon  and  she  slipped  from  the  saddle 
to  crouch  close  to  the  body  of  the  horse  for  pro- 


222  A  Man  Four-Square 

tection.  Instead  of  decreasing,  the  gale  rose  to  a 
hurricane.  It  was  as  if  the  whole  sand  plain  was  in 
continuous,  whirling  motion. 

The  horse  grew  frightened  and  restless.  It  was  a 
young  three-year-old  Jim  Clanton  had  broken  for 
her.  Somehow  —  Lee  did  not  know  quite  the  way 
it  happened  —  the  bridle  rein  slipped  from  her 
fingers  and  the  colt  was  gone. 

She  ran  after  the  pony  —  called  to  it  frantically 
—  fought  in  pursuit  against  the  shrieking  blasts. 
The  animal  disappeared,  swallowed  in  the  whirl- 
wind that  encompassed  her  and  it.  Lee  sank  down, 
sheltering  her  face  with  her  arms  against  the  pelting 
sand  sleet. 

But  years  in  the  outdoor  West  had  given  Lee  the 
primal  virtue,  courage.  She  scorned  a  quitter,  one 
who  lay  down  or  cried  out  under  punishment.  Now 
she  got  to  her  feet  and  faced  the  storm.  The  close- 
ness of  her  horizon  —  her  outstretched  arms  could 
almost  touch  the  limit  of  it  —  confused  the  mind  of 
the  girl.  She  no  longer  knew  east  from  west,  north 
from  south.  With  a  sudden  sinking  of  the  heart  she 
realized  that  she  was  lost  in  this  gray  desert  bliz- 
zard. 

Blindly  she  chose  a  direction  and  plunged  for- 
ward. At  times  the  wind  hit  her  like  a  movimg  wall 
and  flung  her  to  the  ground.  She  would  lie  there 
panting  for  a  few  moments,  struggle  to  her  knees, 
and  creep  on  till  in  a  lull  she  could  again  find  her 
feet. 

How  much  of  this  buffeting,  she  wondered,  could 
one  endure  and  live?  The  air  was  so  filled  with  dust 


A  Man  Four-Square  223 

that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  get  a  breath.  Her 
muscles  ached  with  the  flogging  they  were  receiv- 
ing. She  was  so  exhausted,  her  forces  so  spent,  that 
the  hinges  of  her  knees  buckled  under  her. 

One  of  her  feet  struck  against  a  rise  in  the  ground 
and  she  stumbled.  She  lay  there  motionless  for 
what  seemed  a  long  time  before  it  penetrated  her 
consciousness  that  one  of  her  palms  pained  from  a 
jagged  cut  the  fall  had  caused.  Her  body  lay  on 
sharp-pointed  rocks.  As  far  as  they  could  reach, 
the  groping  fingers  of  the  girl  found  nothing  but 
hard,  rough  stone.  Then,  in  a  flash,  the  truth  came 
to  her.   She  had  reached  the  Mal-Pais. 

She  crept  across  the  lava  in  an  effort  to  escape 
the  strangling  wind.  Its  rage  followed  her,  drove 
the  girl  deeper  into  the  bad  lands.  A  renewal  of 
hope  urged  her  on.  In  its  rough  terrain  she  might 
find  shelter  from  the  tornado.  In  short  stages,  with 
rests  between,  she  pushed  into  the  vitreous  lake, 
dragged  herself  up  from  the  terrace,  fought  forward 
doggedly  for  what  seemed  to  her  an  age. 

A  crevice  barred  the  way.  The  fissure  was  too 
wide  to  step  across  and  was  perhaps  ten  feet  deep. 
Lee  slid  into  it,  slipped,  and  fell  the  last  step  or  two 
of  the  descent.  She  lay  where  she  had  fallen,  too 
worn  out  to  move. 

It  must  have  been  almost  at  once  that  she  fell 
asleep. 

The  stars  were  out  when  she  awakened,  her 
muscles  stiff  and  aching  from  the  pressure  of  her 
weight  upon  the  rock.  The  girl  lay  for  a  minute 
wondering  where  she  was.  Above  was  a  narrow  bar 


2£4  A  Man  Four-Square 

of  starlit  sky.  The  walls  of  her  pit  of  refuge  were 
within  touch  of  her  finger  tips.  Then  memory  of  the 
storm  and  her  escape  from  it  flashed  back  to  her. 

She  climbed  easily  the  rough  side  of  the  cavern 
and  looked  around.  The  wind  had  died  so  that  not 
even  a  murmur  of  it  remained.  As  far  as  the  eye 
could  see  the  lava  flow  extended  without  a  break. 
But  she  knew  the  cavern  in  which  she  had  slept 
lay  at  a  right  angle  to  the  line  of  her  advance.  All 
she  had  to  do  was  to  face  forward  and  keep  going 
till  she  reached  the  plain.  The  reasoning  was  sound, 
but  it  was  based  on  a  wrong  premise.  Lee  had 
clambered  out  of  the  fissure  on  the  opposite  side 
from  that  by  which  she  had  entered.  Every  step 
she  took  now  carried  her  farther  into  the  bad  lands. 

Morning  broke  to  find  her  completely  at  sea. 
Even  the  boasted  weather  of  the  Southwest  played 
false.  A  drizzle  of  rain  was  in  the  air.  Not  until 
late  in  the  afternoon  did  the  sun  show  at  all  and 
by  that  time  the  wanderer  was  so  deep  in  the  Mal- 
Pais  that  when  night  closed  down  again  she  was 
still  its  prisoner. 

She  was  hungry  and  fagged.  The  soles  of  her  boots 
were  worn  out  and  her  feet  were  badly  blistered. 
Again  she  took  refuge  in  a  deep  crevice  for  the  night. 

The  loneliness  appalled  her.  No  living  crea- 
ture was  to  be  seen.  In  all  this  awful  desolation  she 
was  alone.  Her  friends  at  Live-Oaks  would  think 
she  was  at  the  Ninety-Four  Ranch.  Even  if  they 
searched  for  her  she  would  never  be  found.  After 
horrible  suffering  she  would  die  of  hunger  and  thirst. 
She  broke  down  at  last  and  wept  herself  to  sleep. 


Chapter  XXVII 

"A  Lucky  Guy" 

Lee  had  the  affrighted  look  of  one  roused  sudden- 
ly from  troubled  dreams.  The  whimper  that  had 
drawn  the  attention  of  Prince  must  have  come  from 
her  restless,  tortured  sleep.  Not  till  his  second 
match  flared  had  she  been  really  awake. 

"Thank  God!"  he  cried  brokenly,  all  the  pent 
emotion  of  the  long  night  vibrant  in  his  tremulous 
voice. 

She  began  to  sob,  softly,  pitifully. 

The  match  went  out,  but  even  in  the  blackness  of 
the  pit  he  could  not  escape  the  look  of  suffering  he 
had  seen  on  her  face.  Her  habit  was  to  do  all  things 
with  high  spirit.  He  could  guess  how  much  she  had 
endured  to  bring  those  hollow  shadows  under  her 
dusky  eyes.  The  woe  of  the  girl  touched  his  heart 
sharply,  as  if  with  the  point  of  a  rapier. 

He  stooped,  lifted  her  gently,  and  gathered  her 
like  a  hurt  child  into  his  arms.  "You  poor  lost 
lamb,"  he  murmured.  And  again  he  cried,  "Thank 
God,  I  came  in  time." 

Her  arms  crept  round  his  neck.  She  clung  to  him 
for  safety,  fearfully,  lest  even  now  he  might  vanish 
from  her  sight.  Long,  ragged  sobs  shook  the  body 
resting  in  his  arms.  He  whispered  words  of  com- 
fort, stroked  gently  the  dark  head  of  blue-black 
hair,  held  her  firmly  so  that  she  might  know  she  had 


226  A  Man  Four-Square 

found  a  sure  refuge  from  the  fate  that  had  so  nearly 
devoured  her. 

The  spasmodic  quivering  of  the  body  died  away. 
She  dabbed  at  her  eyes  with  a  rag  of  a  handker- 
chief and  withdrew  herself  from  his  arms. 

"I'm  a  nice  baby,"  she  explained  with  a  touch  of 
self -con  tempt.  "But  it's  been  rather  awful,  Billie. 
I  ...  I  did  n't  know  whether  ..." 

"It's  been  the  worst  night  of  my  life,"  he 
agreed.  "I've  been  in  hell  for  hours,  dear.  If  —  if 
anything  had  happened  to  you  — " 

The  heart  of  the  girl  beat  fast.  She  told  herself 
he  did  not  mean  —  could  not  mean  what,  with  a 
sudden  warmth  of  joy,  her  soul  hunger  had  read 
into  his  words. 

Prince  uncorked  his  canteen  and  she  drank.  He 
gave  her  sandwiches  and  she  devoured  them.  After 
he  had  helped  her  from  the  fissure  he  fired  three 
shots.  Faintly  from  the  left  came  the  answering 
bark  of  a  revolver.  What  might  almost  have  been 
an  echo  of  it  drifted  from  the  right. 

Lee  Snaith  was  the  most  competent  young  woman 
the  sheriff  had  ever  met.  He  knew  her  self-reliant 
and  had  always  guessed  her  sufficient  to  herself. 
Toward  him  especially  he  had  sensed  a  suggestion 
of  cool  hostility.  They  had  been  friends,  but  with 
a  distinct  note  of  reservation  on  her  part. 

To-night  the  mask  was  off.  She  had  come  too 
close  to  raw  reality  to  think  of  her  pride.  The  morn- 
ing light  was  sifting  into  the  sky  now.  Billie  could 
see  the  girl  more  clearly  as  she  sat  on  a  slab  of  rock 
waiting  for  the  other  searchers  to  join  them.   Was 


A  Man  Four-Square  227 

it  his  imagination  that  found  in  her  an  unwonted 
shyness  of  the  dark  eyes,  a  gentle  timidity  of  man- 
ner when  she  looked  at  him? 

His  emotion  still  raced  at  high  tide.  What  an  in- 
comparable mate  she  would  be  for  any  man!  The 
rich  contralto  of  her  voice,  the  slow,  graceful  turn  of 
the  exquisite  head,  the  vividness  she  brought  to  all 
her  activities !  How  easy  it  was  to  light  in  her  fine 
eyes  laughter,  indignation,  the  rare  smile  of  under- 
standing! Life  with  her  would  be  an  adventure 
into  the  hill-tops.  With  all  his  heart  he  yearned  to 
take  it  beside  her. 

There  were  strange  flashes  in  his  eyes  to-night 
that  signaled  to  her  a  message  she  had  despaired  of 
ever  receiving.  The  long  lashes  of  the  girl  fell  to  the 
hot  cheeks.  A  pulse  of  excitement  beat  in  her  blood. 
A  few  minutes  before  she  had  clung  to  him  despair- 
ingly.  Now  she  wanted  to  run  away  and  hide. 

He  stepped  close  to  her  and  let  his  hand  fall 
lightly  on  her  arm. 

"I've  been  blind  all  these  years,  Lee,"  he  told 
her.   "It's  you  I  love." 

She  stole  a  little  look  at  him  with  shy,  incredu- 
lous eyes.   "Have  you  forgotten  —  Polly?" 

"I  have  n't  been  in  love  with  her  for  years,  but 
I  did  n't  know  it  till  about  the  Christmas  holidays. 
She  was  a  habit  with  me.  There  never  was  a 
sweeter  girl  than  Polly  Roubideau.  I'll  always 
think  a  heap  of  her.  But  —  well,  she  had  more 
sense  than  I  had  —  knew  all  the  time  we  were  n't 
cut  out  for  each  other."  He  laughed  a  little, 
flushing  with  embarrassment.    It  is  not  the  easiest 


228  A  Man  Four-Square 

thing  in  the  world  to  explain  to  a  girl  why  you 
have  neglected  her  in  favor  of  another. 

Lee  trembled.  The  desire  was  strong  in  her  to 
seize  her  happiness  while  she  could.  Surely  she  had 
waited  long  enough  for  it.  But  some  impulse  of  fair 
play  to  him  or  of  justice  to  herself  held  back  the 
tide  of  love  she  longed  to  release. 

"I  think  .  .  .  you  are  impulsive,"  she  said  at  last. 
"If  you  have  anything  you  want  to  tell  me,  better 
wait  until  ..." 

"Not  another  moment!"  he  cried.  "I've  been 
in  torment  all  night.  I  ...  I  thought  I'd  lost  you 
forever.  You  don't  care  for  me,  of  course.  You 
never  have  liked  me  very  well,  but  — •" 

"Haven't  I?"  she  breathed  softly,  not  looking 
at  him. 

Love  irradiated  and  warmed  her.  She  forgot  all 
she  had  suffered  during  the  years  she  had  waited  for 
him  to  know  his  mind.  She  forgot  the  privations  of 
the  past  two  days.  Her  eyes  were  tender  with  the 
mist  of  unshed  tears. 

"It's  going  to  be  the  biggest  thing  in  my  life.  If 
there's  any  chance  at  all  I'll  wait  as  long  as  you 
like.  Of  course,  the  idea's  new  to  you  because  you 
have  n't  ever  thought  of  me  that  way  — " 

"You  know  so  much  about  it,"  she  replied,  a  faint 
smile  in  her  dark  eyes  that  had  in  it  something  of 
wistfulness,  something  of  self -mockery.  She  looked 
directly  at  him  and  let  him  have  it  full  in  the  face. 
"I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it,  I  suppose,  but  I  'm  not. 
I  've  thought  of  you  —  that  way  —  lots  of  times.  All 
girls  do,  when  they  meet  a  man  they  like." 


A  Man  Four-Square  229 

"You  like  me?" 

She  might  have  told  him  that  her  heart  had  been 
his  ever  since  that  first  week  when  she  had  met  him 
and  Clanton  on  the  river.  She  might  have  added 
that  all  he  had  needed  to  do  was  to  whisper  "  Come  " 
and  she  would  have  galloped  across  New  Mexico 
to  meet  him.  But  she  made  no  such  confession. 

"Yes,  I  .  .  .  like  you,"  she  said,  a  little  tremor  in 
her  voice. 

He  noticed  that  she  did  not  look  at  him.  Her  eyes 
had  fallen  to  the  fingers  laced  together  on  her  lap. 
Under  compulsion  of  his  steady  gaze  she  lifted  her 
lashes  at  last.  What  he  read  there  was  beyond  be- 
lief. The  wonder  of  it  lifted  his  feet  from  the  earth. 

"Lee!"  he  cried,  joy  and  fear  in  the  balance. 

She  answered  his  unspoken  question  with  a  little 
nod. 

His  hand  shook.  "I  've  been  a  blind  idiot,  dear.  I 
never  guessed  such  a  thing." 

"You  were  thinking  about  Polly  all  the  time. 
I  don't  blame  you.  She 's  the  sweetest  thing  I  ever 
knew." 

Billie  sat  down  on  the  spar  of  rock  beside  her. 
His  hand  slipped  down  her  arm  till  it  covered  hers. 
With  the  contact  there  came  to  him  a  flood  of  cour- 
age. He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  with 
infinite  tenderness. 

Still  unstrung  from  her  adventures,  she  wept  a 
little  into  his  shoulder  out  of  a  full  heart. 

"D  —  don't  mind  me,"  she  urged.  "It's  just 
because  I'm  so  happy." 

If  Clanton,  when  he  found  them  together  a  few 


230  A  Man  Four-Square 

minutes  afterward,  guessed  what  had  happened, 
he  gave  no  evidence  of  it  but  a  grin,  unless  his  later 
comment  had  a  cryptic  meaning.  "I'll  bet  Billie  is 
the  glad  lad  at  findin'  you.  He  always  was  a  lucky 

guy." 

"I  think  I'm  a  little  lucky  too,"  Lee  said  with 

a  grave  smile. 

Before  starting,  Prince  examined  the  soles  of  the 
girl's  boots.  Out  of  his  hat  he  fashioned  a  pair  of 
overshoes  and  fastened  them  with  strings  to  her 
feet. 

"They'll  help  some,"  he  promised.  "I  reckon 
you're  not  goin'  to  do  much  walkin'  anyhow  with 
three  husky  men  along." 

By  this  time  the  searcher  on  the  other  flank  had 
joined  them.  The  return  trip  was  a  long,  hard  one, 
but  with  Billie  on  one  side  of  her  and  Jim  on  the 
other,  Lee  found  it  easy  traveling.  They  aided  her 
over  the  sharp  rocks  and  lifted  her  across  the 
rougher  stretches  of  lava. 

At  the  edge  of  the  lava  bed  a  buggy  was  waiting 
to  take  Lee  to  Live-Oaks  in  case  she  should  be 
found.  Prince  helped  Lee  in  and  took  the  place  of 
the  boy  who  had  driven  it  out. 

Clanton  put  his  foot  on  the  hub  of  the  wheel. 
"Just  a  minute,  Billie.  I'm  wanted  for  the  killin' 
of  Homer  Webb.  I  did  n't  shoot  him  an'  I  don't 
know  who  did.  Somebody  must  have  been  lyin' 
there  in  the  chaparral  waitin'  for  him.  I'll  give 
myself  up  an'  stand  trial  if  you'll  guarantee  me 
fair  play.  No  lynchin'  bee.  No  packed  jury.  All 
the  cards  dealt  fair  an'  honest  above  the  table." 


A  Man  Four-Square  231 

The  sheriff  had  smiled  at  Pauline  Roubideau's 
implicit  faith  in  Jim  Clanton's  word.  But  now,  face 
to  face  with  his  friend,  he  too  believed  and  felt  a 
load  lift  from  his  heart. 

"That's  a  deal,  Jim.  You  won't  have  to  reckon 
with  any  mob  or  any  hand-picked  jury.  I'll  tell 
you  the  truth.  I  thought  you  did  it.  But  if  you  say 
you  didn't,  that  goes  with  me.  I  '11  see  you  through." 

"  Good  enough.  I  '11  drop  in  to-morrow  an'  we  can 
fix  things  up.  I  'd  like  to  be  tried  outside  of  Wash- 
ington County.  There's  too  much  prejudice  here 
one  way  an'  another.  Well,  take  this  little  lady 
home  an'  scold  her  good  for  the  way  she's  been 
actin'.  She'd  ought  to  get  married  to  a  man  that 
will  look  after  her  an'  not  let  her  go  buckin'  into 
cyclones." 

Billie  smiled.  "I'll  talk  to  her  about  that,  old 
scout." 

Miss  Snaith  blushed  furiously,  but  the  best  she 
could  do  was  a  bit  of  weak  repartee.  "I  used  to  have 
hopes  that  you  would  ask  me,  Jim." 

Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  laughed  with  friendly  mal- 
ice. "I  used  to  have  hopes,  too,  in  that  direction, 
Lee,  but  I  have  n't  any  more.  You  be  good  to  her 
or  we  also-rans  will  boil  you  in  oil,  Billie." 


Chapter  XXVIII 

Sheriff  Prince  Functions 

"Yippy  yip  yip  yip!" 

Old  Reb,  Quantrell's  ex-guerrilla,  now  boss  of 
mule-skinners  for  Prince,  galloped  down  the  street 
waving  an  old  dusty  white  hat.  Women  and  chil- 
dren and  old  men  dribbled  out  from  the  houses,  all 
eager  for  the  news. 

"Billie  he  found  Miss  Lee  in  the  Mal-Pais.  That 
boy  sure  had  his  lucky  pants  on  to-day.  She's  all 
right  too.  I  done  seen  her  myself  —  just  a  mite 
tuckered  out,  as  you  might  say,"  explained  the 
former  cowpuncher. 

Live-Oaks  shook  hands  with  itself  in  exuberant 
joy.  For  an  hour  the  school  bell  pealed  out  the  good 
news.  A  big  bonfire  blazed  in  the  court-house  square. 
Wise  dames  busied  themselves  baking  bread  and 
frying  doughnuts  and  roasting  beef  for  the  rescue 
party  now  homeward  bound.  It  was  a  certainty 
that  their  men-folks  would  all  be  hungry  and  ready 
for  a  big  feed. 

By  noon  most  of  the  searchers  were  back  in  town 
and  the  saloons  were  doing  big  business.  When 
Prince  drove  down  the  main  street  of  Live-Oaks  an 
hour  later,  the  road  was  jammed  as  for  a  Fourth- 
of-July  celebration.  Tired  though  she  was,  Lee  had 
not  the  heart  to  disappoint  these  good  friends.  She 
went  to  the  picnic  ground  at  Fremont's  Grove  and 
was  hugged  and  kissed  by  all  the  women  at  the 


A  Man  Four-Square  233 

dinner.  She  wept  and  was  wept  over  till  her  lover 
decided  she  had  had  all  the  emotion  that  was  good 
for  her,  whereupon  he  took  her  back  to  the  home  of 
her  aunt  and  with  all  the  newborn  authority  of  his 
position  ordered  her  to  bed. 

"But  it's  only  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon," 
Lee  protested. 

"  Good-night,"  answered  Billie  inexorably. 

She  surrendered  meekly.  "If  you  say  I  must,  my 
lord.  I  am  awf'lly  tired."  Little  globes  of  gladness 
welled  up  in  her  eyes.  "Everybody's  so  good  to 
me,  Billie.  I  did  n't  know  folks  were  so  kind.  I 
can't  think  what  I  can  ever  do  to  pay  them  back." 

"I'll  tell  you  how.  You  be  good  to  yourself, 
honey,"  he  told  her  with  a  sudden  wave  of  emotion 
as  he  caught  and  held  her  tight  in  his  arms.  "You 
quit  takin'  chances  with  blizzards  an'  crazy  gunmen 
an'  —  " 

" — And  horsethieves  hidden  in  the  chaparral?" 
she  asked  with  a  flash  of  demure  eyes. 

"You  're  goin'  to  take  an  awful  big  chance  with  one 
ex-horsethief .  Lee,  I  'm  the  luckiest  fellow  on  earth." 

She  nestled  closer  to  him.  Her  lips  trembled  to 
his  kiss. 

"Billie,  you're  sure,  are  n't  you?"  she  whispered. 
"It  was  n't  just  pity  for  me." 

He  chose  to  reassure  her  after  the  fashion  of  a 
lover,  in  that  wordless  language  which  is  as  old  as 
Eden. 

His  heart  was  full  of  her  as  he  swung  down  the 
street  buoyantly.  He  had  known  her  saucy,  scorn- 
ful, and  imperious.    He  had  known  her  gay  and 


234  A  Man  Four-Square 

gallant,  had  been  the  victim  of  her  temper.  Occa- 
sionally he  had  seen  glimpses  of  tenderness  toward 
Pauline  and  of  motherliness  toward  Jim  Clanton. 
But  never  until  last  night  had  he  found  her  de- 
pendent and  clinging.  Her  defense  against  him 
had  been  a  manner  of  cool  self-reliance.  In  the 
stress  of  her  need  that  had  been  swept  aside  to 
show  her  flamy  and  yet  shy,  quick  with  innocent 
passion.  She  wanted  him  for  a  mate,  just  as  he 
wanted  her,  and  she  made  no  concealment  of  it.  In 
the  candor  of  her  love  he  exulted. 

Lee  slept  round  the  clock  almost  twice  and  ap- 
peared for  a  late  breakfast.  Her  aunt  told  her  some 
news  with  which  Live-Oaks  was  buzzing. 

Go-Get-'Em  Jim  had  ridden  into  town,  stopped 
at  the  sheriff's  office,  and  demanded  cynically  the 
thousand  dollars  offered  by  the  Webb  estate  for  his 
arrest. 

"He'll  come  to  no  good  end,"  prophesied  Miss 
Snaith,  senior. 

"You  don't  quite  understand  him,  aunt,"  pro- 
tested Lee.  "That's  just  his  way.  He  likes  to 
grand-stand,  and  he  does  it  rather  well.  But  he 
is  n't  half  so  bad  as  he  makes  out.  He  says  he  did 
not  shoot  Mr.  Webb,  and  we  feel  sure  he  did  n't." 

"Of  course  he  says  so,"  replied  the  older  woman 
indignantly.  "Why  would  n't  he  say  so?  But  Dad 
Wrayburn  was  there  and  saw  it  all.  There  has  been 
a  lot  too  much  promiscuous  killing  and  he's  one 
of  the  worst  of  the  lot,  your  Jim  Clanton  is.  Jimmie- 
Go-Get-'Em,  indeed!  I  hope  the  law  goes  and  gets 
him  now  it  has  a  chance." 


A  Man  Four-Square  235 

The  opinion  of  Lee's  aunt  was  in  accord  with  the 
general  sentiment.  Washington  County  had  within 
the  past  year  suffered  a  change  of  heart.  It  had  put 
behind  its  back  the  wild  and  reckless  days  of  its 
youth  when  every  man  was  a  law  to  himself.  Bar- 
room orators  talked  virtuously  of  law  and  order. 
They  said  it  behooved  the  county  to  live  down  its 
evil  reputation  as  the  worst  in  the  United  States. 
Times  had  changed.  The  watchword  now  should 
be  progress.  It  ought  no  longer  to  be  a  recommen- 
dation to  a  man  that  he  could  bend  a  six-gun  surer 
and  quicker  than  other  folks.  "Movers"  in  white- 
topped  wagons  were  settling  up  the  country.  A 
railroad  had  pushed  in  to  Live-Oaks.  There  was  a 
lot  of  talk  about  Eastern  capital  becoming  inter- 
ested in  irrigation  and  mining.  It  was  high  time  to 
remember  that  Live-Oaks  and  Los  Portales  were 
not  now  frontier  camps,  but  young  cities. 

Since  Live-Oaks  had  been  good  for  so  short  a  time 
it  wanted  to  prove  by  a  shining  example  how  it 
abhorred  the  lawlessness  of  its  youth.  At  this  in- 
opportune moment  Clanton  gave  himself  up  to  be 
tried  for  the  murder  of  Homer  Webb. 

When  the  news  spread  that  Clanton  had  been 
given  a  change  of  venue  and  was  to  be  tried  at 
Santa  Fe,  the  citizens  of  Live-Oaks  were  distinctly 
annoyed.  It  was  known  that  the  sheriff  had  always 
been  a  good  friend  of  the  accused  man.  The  whisper 
passed  that  if  he  ever  took  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  out  of 
the  county  the  killer  would  be  given  a  chance  to 
escape. 

Into  town  from  the  chaparral  drifted  the  enemies 


£36  A  Man  Four-Square 

Clanton  had  made  during  his  career  as  a  gunman. 
Yankie  and  Albeen  and  Dumont  and  Bancock 
moved  to  and  fro  in  the  crowds  at  the  different 
gambling  places  and  saloons.  Even  Roush,  who 
in  the  past  three  years  had  never  given  young 
Clanton  an  opportunity  to  meet  him  face  to  face, 
stole  furtively  into  the  tendejons  of  the  Mexican 
quarter  and  spent  money  freely  in  treating.  Among 
the  natives  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  was  in  ill-repute  for 
shooting  a  bad  man  named  Juan  Ortez  who  had 
attempted  to  terrorize  the  town  while  on  a  spree. 

"We're  spendin'  a  lot  of  good  money  on  this 
job.  We'd  ought  to  pull  it  off,"  Dumont  whispered 
to  Albeen. 

"Whose  money?"  asked  the  one-armed  man 
cynically. 

It  struck  him  as  an  ironic  jest  that  the  money 
they  had  got  from  the  sale  of  Homer  Webb's  cattle 
should  be  spent  to  bring  about  the  lynching  of  the 
man  who  had  killed  him. 

Both  the  sheriff  and  his  deputy  were  out  of  town 
rounding  up  a  half-breed  Mexican  who  had  stabbed 
another  at  a  dance.  They  reached  Live-Oaks  with 
their  prisoner  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 
Lee  was  waiting  for  them  impatiently  at  the  court- 
house. 

"They're  planning  to  lynch  Jim,"  she  told 
Prince  abruptly. 

"Who's  goin'  to  do  all  that?"  he  asked. 

"The  riff-raff  of  the  county  are  back  of  it,  but 
the  worst  of  it  is  that  they've  got  a  lot  of  good 
people  in  with  them.    Some  of  the  Flying  V  Y 


A  Man  Four-Square  237 

riders  are  in  town  too.  I  never  saw  so  much  drink- 
ing before." 

"When  is  it  to  be?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Bud  Proctor.  He  says  Yankie  and  Albeen  and 
that  crowd  are  spending  hundreds  of  dollars  at  the 
bars." 

"I  knew  there  was  somethin'  on  foot  soon  as  we 
hit  town  —  felt  it  in  the  air."  The  sheriff  looked 
at  his  watch.  "We  can  just  catch  the  afternoon 
train,  Jack.  Take  this  bird  downstairs  an'  lock 
him  up.   I'll  join  you  in  a  minute." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  Lee  as  soon 
as  they  were  alone. 

"Goin'  to  slip  Jim  aboard  the  train  an'  take  him 
to  Santa  Fe." 

"Can  you  do  it  without  being  seen?" 

"I'll  tell  you  that  later,"  he  answered  with  a 
grim  smile.  "Much  obliged,  honey.  I'm  goin'  to 
be  right  busy  now,  but  I  '11  see  you  soon  as  I  get 
back  to  town." 

Lee  nodded  good-bye  and  went  out.  She  liked 
it  in  him  that  just  now  he  had  no  time  even  for  her. 
From  the  door  she  glanced  back.  Already  he  was 
busy  getting  his  guns  ready. 

Prince  got  his  keys  and  unlocked  the  room  where 
Clanton  was.  Jim  was  on  the  bed  reading  an  old 
newspaper. 

"Hello,  Billie,"  he  grinned. 

"We're  leaving  on  the  afternoon  train,  Jim.  Get 
a  move  on  you  an'  hustle  yore  things  together." 


238  A  Man  Four-Square 

"Thought  you  were  n't  goin'  till  next  week." 
"Changed  my  mind.  Jim,  there's  trouble  afoot. 
Yore  enemies  are  all  in  town.    I  want  to  get  you 
away." 

Clanton  did  not  bat  an  eye.  "Plannin'  a  necktie 
party,  are  they?" 

"They've  got  notions.  Mine  are  different." 
"Do  I  get  a  gun  if  it  comes  to  a  showdown 
Billie?  " 

"You  do.  I'll  appoint  you  a  deputy." 
Jim  laughed.  "That  sounds  reasonable." 
Goodheart  joined  them.  The  three  men  left  the 
back  door  of  the  court-house  and  cut  across  the 
square.  The  station  was  three  blocks  distant.  Be- 
fore they  had  covered  a  hundred  yards  a  boy  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street  stopped,  stared  at  them, 
and  disappeared  into  the  nearest  saloon. 

The  prisoner  looked  at  his  friend  and  grinned 
gayly.  "Somethin'  stirrin'  soon.  We're  liable  to 
have  a  breeze  in  this  neighborhood,  looks  like." 

They  reached  the  station  without  being  molested, 
but  down  the  street  could  be  seen  much  bustle  of 
men  running  to  and  fro.  Prince  looked  at  them 
anxiously. 

"The  clans  are  gathering,"  murmured  Clanton 
nonchalantly,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "Don't 
you  reckon  maybe  you'll  have  to  feed  me  to  the 
wolves  after  all,  Billie?" 

A  saddled  horse  blinked  in  the  sun  beside  the 
depot,  the  bridle  rein  trailing  on  the  ground.  Its 
owner  sat  on  a  dry-goods  box  and  whittled.  Jim 
glanced  at  the  bronco  casually.    Jack  Goodheart 


A  Man  Four-Square  239 

also  observed  the  cowpony.  He  whispered  to  the 
sheriff. 

Prince  turned  to  his  prisoner.  "Jim,  you  can  take 
that  horse  an'  hit  the  dust,  if  you  like." 

"Meanin'  that  you  can't  protect  me?" 

The  salient  jaw  of  the  sheriff  tightened.  He 
looked  what  he  was,  a  man  among  ten  thousand, 
quiet  and  forceful,  strong  as  tested  steel. 

"You'll  have  exactly  the  same  chance  to  weather 
this  that  we  will." 

A  mob  of  men  was  moving  down  the  street  in 
loose  formation.  There  was  still  time  for  a  man  to 
fling  himself  into  the  saddle  and  gallop  away. 

"You'd  rather  I  'd  stay,  Billie." 

"Yes.  I'm  sheriff.  I 'd  like  to  show  this  drunken 
outfit  they  can't  take  a  prisoner  from  me." 

Clanton  gave  a  little  whoop  of  delight.  "  Go  to  it, 
son.  You're  law  west  of  the  Pecos.  Let's  see  you 
make  it  stick." 

Live-Oaks  was  as  yet  the  terminus  of  the  rail- 
road. The  train  backed  into  the  station  just  as  the 
first  of  the  mob  arrived. 

"Nothin'  doin',  Prince,"  announced  Yankie, 
swaggering  forward.  "You're  not  goin'  to  take 
this  fellow  Clanton  away.  We've  come  to  get 
him." 

"That's  right,"  agreed  Albeen. 

Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em  grinned.  "Makes  twice  now 
you've  come  to  get  me." 

"We  didn't  make  it  go  last  time.  Different 
now,"  said  Bancock,  moving  forward. 

"That 's  near  enough,"  ordered  Prince.  "  You  Ve 


240  A  Man  Four-Square 

made  a  mistake,  boys.  I'm  sheriff  of  Washingtom 
County,  and  this  man's  my  prisoner." 

"He's  yore  old  side  kick,  too,  ain't  he?"  jeered 
Yankie. 

Goodheart,  following  the  orders  he  had  received, 
moved  forward  to  the  engine  and  climbed  into  the 
cab  beside  the  engineer  and  fireman.  The  sheriff 
and  his  prisoner  backed  to  the  steps  of  the  smoking- 
car.  Billie  had  had  a  word  with  the  brakeman,  his 
young  friend  Bud  Proctor,  who  had  at  once  locked 
the  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  smoker. 

"Now,"  said  Prince  in  a  low  voice. 

Jim  ran  up  lightly  to  the  platform  of  the  coach 
and  passed  inside.  A  howl  of  anger  rose  from  the 
mob.  There  was  a  rush  forward.  Billie  was  on  the 
lower  step.  His  long  leg  lifted,  the  toe  caught 
Yankie  on  the  point  of  the  chin,  and  the  rustler 
went  back  head  first  into  the  crowd  as  though  he 
had  been  shot  from  a  catapult. 

Instantly  Prince  leaped  for  the  platform  and 
whirled  on  the  mob.  He  held  now  a  gun  in  each 
hand.  His  eyes  glittered  dangerously  as  they  swept 
the  upturned  faces.  They  carried  to  every  man  in 
the  crowd  the  message  that  his  prisoner  could  not 
be  taken  as  long  as  the  sheriff  was  alive. 

Clanton  threw  open  a  window  of  the  coach,  rested 
his  arms  on  the  sill,  and  looked  out.  Again  there 
was  a  roar  of  rage  and  a  forward  surge  of  the  dense 
pack  on  the  station  platform. 

"He  ain't  even  got  irons  on  the  man's  hands!" 
a  voice  shouted.  "It's  a  frame-up  to  git  him  away 
from  us!" 


A  Man  Four-Square  241 

"  Don't  hide  back  there  in  the  rear,  Roush.  Come 
right  up  to  the  front  an'  tell  me  that,"  called  back 
Prince.  "You're  right  about  one  thing.  I  don't 
need  to  handcuff  Clanton.  He  has  surrendered  for 
trial,  an'  I  'm  here  to  see  he  gets  a  fair  one.  I  '11  do 
it  if  I  have  to  put  irons  in  his  hands  —  shootin' 
irons." 

Jim  Clanton,  his  head  framed  in  the  window, 
laughed  insolently.  He  was  a  picture  of  raffish, 
devil-may-care  ease. 

"Don't  let  Billie  bluff  you,  boys.  We  can't  bump 
off  more  'n  a  dozen  or  so  of  you.  Hop  to  it." 

"You  won't  laugh  so  loud  when  the  rope's  round 
yore  gullet,"  retorted  Albeen. 

"That  rope  ain't  woven,  yet,"  flung  back  the 
young  fellow  coolly. 

Even  as  he  spoke  a  lariat  whistled  through  the 
air.  Jim  threw  up  a  hand  and  the  loop  slid  harm- 
lessly down  the  side  of  the  car.  One  of  the  riders 
of  the  Flying  V  Y  had  tried  to  drag  the  prisoner 
out  with  a  reata. 

"You  mean  well,  but  you'll  never  win  a  roping 
contest,  Syd,"  jeered  Clanton.  "Good  of  you  an' 
all  my  old  friends  to  gather  here  to  see  me  ofL  I 
see  you  back  there,  Roush.  It's  been  some  years 
since  we  met,  an'  me  always  lookin'  for  you  to  say 
to  you  a  few  well-chosen  words.  I  '11  shoot  straighter 
next  time." 

The  vigilantes  raised  a  howl  of  fury.  They  were 
like  a  wolf  pack  eager  for  the  kill.  Between  them 
and  their  prey  stood  one  man,  cool,  indomitable, 
steady  as  a  rock.  He  held  death  in  each  hand,  and 


242  A  Man  Four-Square 

every  man  present  knew  it.  They  could  get  Clanton 
if  they  were  willing  to  pay  the  price,  but  though 
there  were  game  men  in  the  mob,  not  one  of  them 
wanted  to  be  the  first  to  put  his  foot  on  the  lower 
step  of  the  coach. 

From  the  other  end  of  the  car  came  the  sudden 
noise  of  hammering.  Some  one  had  found  a  sledge 
in  the  baggage-room  and  with  a  dozen  armed  men 
back  of  him  was  trying  to  break  down  the  door. 

Prince  called  to  his  prisoner.  "You've  got  to  get 
in  this,  Jim.  I  appoint  you  deputy  sheriff.  Unstrap 
this  belt  from  my  waist.  Take  the  other  end  of  the 
car  an'  hold  it.  No  shootin'  unless  it  comes  to  a 
showdown.  Understand?" 

Clanton  nodded.  His  eyes  gleamed.  "I'll  be- 
have proper,  Billie." 

Five  seconds  later  the  beating  on  the  door 
stopped.  The  eyes  of  the  big  blacksmith  with  the 
hammer  popped  out  with  a  ludicrous  terror.  Go- 
Get-'Em  Jim  was  standing  in  the  aisle  grinning  at 
him  with  a  six-gun  in  each  hand.  With  a  wild 
whoop  the  horseshoer  dropped  the  sledge  and 
turned.  He  flung  himself  down  the  steps  carrying 
with  him  half  a  dozen  others.  Not  till  he  was  safe 
in  his  own  shop  two  blocks  away  did  he  stop  running. 

A  shrill  whistle  rang  out  from  the  side  of  the 
train  farthest  from  the  station.  The  wheels  began 
to  move  slowly.  There  was  a  rush  for  the  engine. 
Jack  Goodheart  stood  in  the  door  of  the  cab  ready 
for  business. 

"No  passengers  allowed  here,  boys,"  he  an- 
nounced calmly.   "Take  the  coaches  in  the  rear." 


A  Man  Four-Square  243 

A  dozen  revolvers  cracked.  There  was  a  rattle  of 
breaking  windows.  The  engine,  baggage-car,  and 
smoker  moved  forward,  leaving  the  rest  of  the 
train  on  the  track. 

Men,  swarming  like  ants,  had  climbed  to  the  top 
of  the  cars,  evidently  with  some  idea  of  getting  at 
their  victim  from  above.  Some  of  these  were  on  the 
forward  coaches.  They  began  to  drop  off  hurriedly 
as  the  station  fell  to  the  rear. 

The  wheels  turned  faster.  Bud  Proctor  swung 
aboard  and  joined  the  sheriff. 

"I  cut  off  the  other  cars  and  gave  the  signal  to 
start,"  he  explained  triumphantly. 

"Good  boy,  Bud.  Knew  I  could  tie  to  you," 
Prince  answered  with  the  warm  smile  that  always 
won  him  friends. 

They  passed  into  the  car  together.  Clanton  was 
leaning  far  out  of  the  window  waving  a  mocking 
hand  of  farewell  to  the  crowd  on  the  platform.  He 
drew  his  head  in  and  handed  the  weapons  back  to 
his  friend. 

"Don't  I  make  a  good  deputy,  Billie?  I  did  n't 
fire  even  once." 


Chapter  XXIX 

"They  can't  Hang  Me  if  I  ain't  There" 

The  jury  brought  in  a  verdict  of  murder  in  the  first 
degree.  Clanton  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  at 
Live-Oaks  four  weeks  after  the  day  the  trial  ended. 
Prince  himself  had  been  called  back  to  Washington 
County  to  deal  with  a  band  of  rustlers  who  had 
lately  pulled  off  a  series  of  bold,  wholesale  cattle 
thefts.  He  left  Goodheart  to  bring  the  prisoner 
back  with  him  in  case  of  a  conviction. 

The  deputy  sheriff  left  the  train  at  Los  Vegas,  to 
which  point  Prince  had  sent  a  man  with  horses  to 
meet  Jack  and  the  convicted  murderer.  It  was  not 
likely  that  the  enemies  of  Clanton  would  make  an- 
other attempt  to  frustrate  the  law,  but  there  was  a 
chance  that  they  would.  Goodheart  did  not  take 
the  direct  road  to  Live-Oaks,  but  followed  the  river 
valley  toward  Los  Portales. 

The  party  reached  the  Roubideau  ranch  at  dusk 
of  the  third  night.  Pauline  had  been  at  the  place 
three  months  keeping  house  for  her  father.  She 
flew  to  meet  Jim,  her  eyes  filled  with  a  divine  pity. 
Both  hands  went  out  to  his  manacled  ones  impul- 
sively. Her  face  glowed  with  a  soft,  welcoming 
warmth. 

"You  poor  boy!  You  poor,  poor  boy!"  she 
cried.  Then,  flaming,  she  turned  on  Goodheart: 
"Bel  et  bien!  Why  do  you  load  him  down  with 
chain*?  Are  you  afraid  of  him?" 


A  Man  Four-Square  £45 

The  deputy  flushed.  "  I  have  no  right  to  take  any 
chances  of  an  escape.  You  know  that." 

"I  know  he  is  innocent.  Why  did  they  find  him 
guilty?" 

"I  had  no  evidence,"  explained  Jim  simply. 
"Dad  Wrayburn  swore  I  shot  twice  at  Webb  just 
before  I  disappeared  in  the  brush.  Then  a  shot 
came  out  of  the  chaparral.  It 's  not  reasonable  to 
suppose  some  one  else  fired  it,  especially  when  the 
bullet  was  one  that  fitted  a  forty-four." 

"But  you  did  n't  fire  it.  You  told  me  so  in  your 
letter."  " 

"My  word  did  n't  count  with  the  jury.  I'd  have 
to  claim  that,  anyhow,  to  save  my  life.  My  notion 
is  that  the  bullet  did  n't  come  from  a  six-gun  at  all, 
but  from  a  seventy-three  rifle.  But  I  can't  prove 
that  either." 

"It  isn't  fair.  It  —  it's  an  outrage."  Polly 
burst  into  tears  and  took  the  slim  young  fellow  into 
her  arms.  "They  ought  to  know  you  would  n't  do 
that.   Why  did  n't  your  friends  tell  them  so?" 

He  smiled,  a  little  wistfully.  "A  gunman  does  n't 
have  friends,  Polly.  Outside  of  you  an'  Lee  an' 
Billie  I  have  n't  any.  All  the  newspapers  in  the 
territory  an'  all  the  politicians  an'  most  of  the  de- 
cent people  have  been  pullin'  for  a  death  sentence. 
Well,  they've  got  it."  He  stroked  her  hair  softly. 
"Don't  you  worry,  girl.  They  won't  get  a  chance 
to  hang  me." 

Pauline  released  him,  dabbed  at  her  eyes,  and 
ran,  choking,  into  the  house. 

16 You've  got  to  be  in  trouble  to  make  a  real  hit 


246  A  Man  Four-Square 

with  Miss  Roubideau,"  suggested  the  lank  deputy, 
a  little  bitterly.  "I'll  take  those  bracelets  off  now, 
Clanton.  You  can  wash  for  supper." 

Polly  saw  to  it,  anyhow,  that  the  prisoner  had  the 
best  to  eat  there  was  in  the  house.  She  made  a 
dinner  of  spring  chicken,  mashed  potatoes,  hot  bis- 
cuits, jelly,  and  apple  pie. 

A  rider  for  the  Flying  V  Y  dropped  in  after  they 
had  eaten  and  bridled  like  a  turkey  cock  at  sight  of 
Clanton. 

"Don't  you  let  him  git  away  from  you,  Jack," 
he  warned  the  officer.  "We're  allowin'  to  have  a 
holiday  on  the  sixth  up  at  our  place  so  as  to  go  to 
the  show.  It  is  the  sixth,  ain't  it?"  he  jeered,  turn- 
ing to  the  handcuffed  man  on  the  lounge. 

"The  sixth  is  correct,"  answered  Jim  coolly, 
meeting  him  eye  to  eye. 

"You  wouldn't  talk  that  way  if  Clanton  was 
free,"  said  Goodheart.  "You're  taggin'  yoreself  a 
bully  an'  a  cheap  skate  when  you  do  it." 

"Say,  is  that  any  of  yore  business,  Mr.  Deputy 
Sheriff?" 

"It  is  when  you  talk  to  my  prisoner.  Cut  it  out, 
Swartz." 

"All  right." 

The  cowpuncher  turned  to  Pauline,  who  had 
come  to  the  door  and  stood  there.  "  You  '11  be  goin' 
to  the  big  show  on  the  sixth,  Miss  Roubideau. 
Live-Oaks  will  be  a  sure-enough  live  town  that 
day." 

The  young  woman  walked  straight  up  to  the  big 
cowpuncher.    Her  eyes  blazed.    "Get  out  of  this 


A  Man  Four-Square  247 

house.  Don't  ever  come  here  again.  Don't  speak 
to  me  if  you  meet  me." 

The  Flying  V  Y  rider  was  taken  aback.  Like  a 
good  many  young  fellows  within  a  radius  of  a  hun- 
dred miles,  he  was  a  candidate  for  the  favor  of 
Pierre  Roubideau's  daughter. 

"Why,  I  —  I  —  "  he  stammered.  "I  did  n't  aim 
for  to  offend  you.  This  fellow  bushwhacked  my 
boss.  He  —  " 

"That  is  n't  true,"  she  interrupted.  "He  did  n't 
do  it." 

"Sure  he  did  it.  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  is  a  killer.  A 
girl  like  you,  Miss  Roubideau,  has  got  no  business 
stickin'  up  for  a  bad  man  who  — •  " 

"Did  n't  you  hear  me?  I  told  you  to  go." 

"You've  been  invited  to  remove  yoreself  from 
the  place  an'  become  a  part  of  the  outdoor  scenery, 
Swartz,"  cut  in  Goodheart,  a  snap  to  his  jaw.  "I'd 
take  that  invite  pronto  if  I  was  you." 

The  cowpuncher  picked  up  his  hat  and  walked 
out.  The  drawling  voice  of  the  prisoner  followed 
him. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Polly.  They  can't  hang  me 
if  I  ain't  there,  can  they?" 

The  deputy  guessed  that  Pauline  wished  to  talk 
alone  with  Clanton.  Presently  he  arose  and  saun- 
tered to  the  door.  "I  want  to  see  yore  father  about 
some  horses  Billie  needs.  Rack  soon." 

He  gave  them  a  half -hour,  but  he  took  pains  to 
see  that  his  assistant  covered  the  back  door  while 
he  watched  the  front  of  the  house.  The  prisoner 
was  handcuffed,  but  Jack  did  not  intend  to  take  any 


248  A  Man  Four-Square 

chances.  Personally  he  believed  that  Clanton  was 
guilty,  but  whether  he  was  or  not  it  was  his  duty 
to  bring  the  convicted  man  safely  to  Live-Oaks, 
This  he  meant  to  do. 


Chapter  XXX 

Polly  has  a  Plan 

Pauline  moved  across  the  room  and  sat  down 
beside  Jim.  An  eager  light  shone  in  her  soft,  brown 
eyes. 

"Listen!"  she  ordered  in  a  low  voice.  "I've  got 
a  plan.  There  's  a  chance  that  it  will  work,  I  think. 
But  tell  me  first  about  your  sleeping  arrangements. 
Does  Jack  or  the  other  guard  sit  up  and  watch  you 
all  the  time?" 

"No.  The  champion  roper  of  New  Mexico,  Ari- 
zona, an'  Texas  throws  the  diamond  hitch  on  yours 
truly.  He  does  an  expert  job,  tucks  me  up,  an' 
says  good-night.  He  knows  I'm  perfectly  safe  till 
mornin',  especially  since  both  he  an'  Brad  sleep 
in  the  same  room  with  me." 

"  Well,  I  'm  going  to  give  you  dad's  room."  She 
leaned  forward  and  whispered  to  him  steadily  for 
five  minutes. 

The  sardonic  mockery  had  vanished  from  the 
face  of  the  prisoner.  He  listened,  every  nerve  and 
fiber  of  him  at  alert  attention.  Occasionally  he 
asked  a  question.  Carefully  she  explained  the 
plan,  going  over  each  detail  of  it  again  and  again. 

Jim  Clanton  was  efficient.  In  those  days  it  was 
a  necessary  quality  for  a  bad  man  if  he  wished  to 
continue  to  function.  He  offered  a  suggestion  or 
two  which  Pauline  incorporated  in  her  proposed 
campaign  of  action.  At  best  her  scheme  was  haz- 


250  A  Man  Four-Square 

ardous.  It  depended  upon  all  things  dovetailing 
properly.  But  he  was  in  no  place  to  pick  and  choose. 
All  he  asked  was  a  chance  and  an  even  break  of 
luck. 

"You  dandy  girl!"  he  cried  softly,  and  took  her 
two  hands  between  the  palms  of  his  fettered  ones. 
"I'm  a  scalawag,  Polly.  But  if  you  pull  this  off  for 
me,  I  '11  right-about-face.  That 's  a  promise.  Some- 
how I've  never  acted  like  I  wanted  to.  I've  done 
a  heap  of  wild  an'  foolish  things,  an'  I've  killed 
whenever  it  was  put  up  to  me.  I  don't  reckon  any 
woman  that  married  me  would  be  real  happy.  But 
if  you  '11  take  a  chance  I  '11  go  away  from  here  anJ 
we  '11  make  a  fresh  start.  You  're  the  only  girl  there 
is  for  me." 

A  faint  smile  lay  in  her  eyes.  "You  used  to  think 
Lee  was  the  only  girl,  did  n't  you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  now.  I  like  Polly  Roubideau 
better." 

Abruptly  she  flung  at  him  a  statement  that  was 
a  question.   "You  did  n't  kill  Mr.  Webb." 

"No.  I  never  killed  but  one  man  without  givin' 
him  an  even  break.  That  was  Peg-Leg  Warren,  an' 
he  was  a  cold-blooded  murderer." 

A  troubled  little  frown  creased  her  forehead. 
"I've  thought  for  more  than  a  year  now  that  you 
—  liked  me  that  way.  And  I  've  had  it  in  my  mind 
a  great  deal  as  to  what  I  ought  to  do  if  you  spoke 
to  me  about  it.  I  wish  you  had  a  good  wife,  Jim. 
Maybe  she  could  save  you  from  yourself." 

"Mebbe  she  could,  Polly." 

The  lashes  of  her  eyelids  fell.   She  looked  down 


A  Man  Four-Square  %5l 

at  the  bands  of  iron  around  his  small  wrists.  "I  — 
I've  prayed  over  it,  Jim.  But  I'm  not  clear  that 
I've  found  an  answer."  Her  low  voice  broke  a 
little.   "I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

"  Is  it  that  you  are  afraid  of  what  I  'm  goin'  to 
be?  Can't  you  trust  yore  life  with  me?  I  should 
n't  think  you  could." 

Her  eyes  lifted  and  met  his  bravely.  "I  think 
that  would  n't  stop  me  if  —  if  I  cared  for  you  that 
way." 

"It's  Billie  Prince,  then,  is  it?" 

"No,  it  is  n't  Billie  Prince.  Never  mind  who  it  is. 
What  I  must  decide  is  whether  I  can  make  you  the 
kind  of  wife  you  need  without  being  exactly  — " 

"In  love  with  me,"  he  finished  for  her. 

"Yes.  I 've  always  liked  you  very  much.  You've 
been  good  to  me.  I  love  you  like  a  brother,  I  think. 
Oh,  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it." 

"Let's  get  this  straight,  Polly.  Is  there  some  one 
else  you  love?" 

A  tide  of  color  flooded  her  face  to  the  roots  of  the 
hair.   She  met  his  steady  look  reluctantly. 

"We  need  n't  discuss  that,  Jim." 

"Needn't  we?"  He  laughed  a  little,  but  his 
voice  was  rough  with  feeling.  "You're  the  blamed- 
est  little  pilgrim  ever  I  did  see.  What  kind  of  a  fel- 
low do  you  think  I  am?  I  ain't  good  enough  for  you 
—  not  by  a  thousand  miles.  Even  if  you  felt  about 
me  the  way  I  do  about  you,  it  would  be  a  big  risk 
for  you  to  marry  me.  But  now  —  Sho,  little  mis- 
sionary, I  ain't  so  selfish  as  to  let  you  sacrifice  yore 
life  for  me." 


%5%  A  Man  Four-Square 

"If  I  marry  you  it  will  be  because  I  want  to, 
Jim." 

"You'll  want  to  because  you're  such  a  good 
little  Christian  you  think  it's  up  to  you  to  save  a 
brand  from  the  burning.  But  I  won't  let  you  do  any 
such  foolishness.  You  go  marry  that  other  man. 
If  he's  a  good,  square,  decent  fellow,  you'll  be  a 
whole  lot  better  off  than  if  you  tied  up  with  a  ne'er- 
do-well  like  me." 

They  heard  a  step  on  the  porch. 

"Don't  forget.  Three  taps  if  you're  alone  in  the 
room,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

Goodheart  came  into  the  parlor  with  Pierre 
Roubideau.  "Expect  we'd  better  turn  in,  Clan- 
ton.  We've  got  to  make  an  early  start  to-morrow." 

The  prisoner  rose  at  once.  Pauline  had  drawn  her 
father  aside  and  was  giving  him  some  instructions. 
The  old  Frenchman  nodded,  smiling.  He  under- 
stood her  little  feminine  devices  and  was  a  cheer- 
ful victim  of  them. 

The  young  woman  found  a  chance  for  a  word 
alone  with  the  deputy. 

"I  want  to  see  you  to-night,  Jack,  about  — 
something."  Her  eyes  were  very  bright  and  the 
color  in  the  soft  cheeks  high.  She  spoke  almost  in 
a  whisper. 

The  lank  young  sheriff  had  the  soul  of  an  inar- 
ticulate poet.  Beneath  the  tan  of  his  leathery  face 
the  blood  burned.  This  was  the  first  really  kind 
word  he  had  had  from  her  since  their  arrival.  All 
her  solicitation  had  been  for  the  condemned  youth 
in  his  care.  Perhaps  all  she  wanted  now  was  to  ask 


A  Man  Four-Square  253 

some  favor  for  Clanton,  but  hope  leaped  in  his 
heart. 

He  made  arrangements  for  the  night  in  his  usual 
careful  way.  It  was  not  pleasant  to  have  to  watch 
the  prisoner  as  a  cat  does  a  mouse,  but  Goodheart 
was  thorough  in  whatever  he  undertook.  Skillfully 
he  tied  Clanton  in  such  a  way  as  to  allow  him  enough 
freedom  of  motion  to  change  position  without  giving 
him  enough  to  make  it  possible  for  him  to  untie 
himself. 

"Back  after  a  while,"  he  told  Jim. 

The  young  man  on  the  bed  grunted  sleepily  and 
the  deputy  returned  to  the  parlor. 

Pauline,  still  in  her  kitchen  apron,  smiled  in  at 
the  door  upon  him  and  her  father. 

"You  two  go  out  on  the  porch  and  smoke  your 
pipes,"  she  said.  "I  have  to  finish  my  work  in  the 
kitchen,  then  I  have  to  go  down  to  the  cellar  and 
take  care  of  the  milk.  I'll  not  be  long." 

Pierre,  an  obedient  parent,  rose  and  moved  toward 
the  porch.  Before  he  left  the  room  Goodheart  took 
the  precaution  to  lock  the  bedroom  door  and  pocket 
the  key.  He  was  a  little  ashamed  of  this,  but  he 
knew  that  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  was  a  very  competent 
and  energetic  person.  Convicted  and  sentenced 
though  he  was,  Clanton  still  boasted  with  cool 
aplomb  that  there  would  be  no  hanging  on  the 
sixth.  The  deputy  strolled  round  to  the  back  of 
the  house  to  make  sure  his  assistant  was  still  on  the 
job.  After  a  few  words  with  the  man  he  returned 
to  the  porch.  He  was  satisfied  there  was  no  possible 
chance  of  an  escape.  The  prisoner  lay  handcuffed 


£54  A  Man  Four-Square 

and  tied  to  a  bed  by  the  champion  roper  of  the 
Southwest,  The  door  of  the  room  was  locked. 
Both  exits  from  the  house  were  guarded.  Jack  felt 
that  he  could  safely  enjoy  a  smoke. 


Chapter  XXXI 

Goodheart  Makes  a  Promise  and  Breaks  It 

Pauline  was  a  singularly  honest  little  soul,  but  she 
now  discovered  in  herself  unsuspected  capacity  for 
duplicity.  She  went  singing  about  her  work,  ap- 
parently care-free  as  a  lark.  Presently,  still  hum- 
ming a  French  chanson,  she  appeared  on  the  porch 
swinging  a  key,  passed  the  two  men  with  a  gay  little 
nod,  and  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  house 
to  the  cellar. 

The  rancher  apologized  for  the  key.  "We  Ve  had 
to  lock  the  cellar  lately  since  so  many  movers  have 
been  going  through  on  this  road.  Eh  bien!  Our 
hams  —  they  took  wings  and  flew." 

Polly  rattled  the  milk  pans  for  a  moment  or  two 
and  then  listened.  From  above  there  came  to  her 
the  sound  of  three  faint  raps  on  the  woodwork  of 
the  bed.  She  crept  up  the  stairs  that  led  from  the 
cellar  into  the  house.  At  the  top  of  them  was  a 
trapdoor.  Very  slowly  and  carefully  she  pushed 
this  up.  Through  the  opening  she  passed  into  a 
bedroom. 

Softly  the  girl  stole  to  the  bed.  From  the  cellar 
she  had  brought  a  butcher  knife  and  with  this  she 
sawed  at  the  rope  which  bound  the  prisoner. 

"But  your  handcuffs.  What  can  we  do  about 
them?"  she  whispered. 

Clanton  stretched  his  stiff  muscles.  He  made  no 
answer  in  words.   For  a  moment  or  two  his  arms 


256  A  Man  Four-Square 

writhed,  then  from  out  of  the  iron  bracelet  his  long 
slender  hand  slowly  twisted.  Soon  the  second  wrist 
was  also  free. 

"I  Ve  had  a  lot  of  fun  poked  at  my  girl  hands,  but 
they  come  in  useful  sometimes,"  he  murmured. 

"I'll  have  to  hurry  back  or  I'll  be  missed,"  she 
told  him.  "You'll  find  a  saddled  horse  in  the 
aspens. " 

He  caught  her  by  the  shoulders  and  held  her  fast. 
"You've  been  the  truest  little  friend  ever  a  man 
had.  You  've  stuck  by  me  an'  believed  in  me  even 
when  I  did  n't  believe  in  myself  any  longer.  No 
matter  what  folks  said  about  me  or  about  you  for 
takin'  an  interest  in  such  a  scamp,  you  never  quit 
fightin'  to  keep  me  decent.  I've  heard  tell  of 
guardian  angels  —  well,  that 's  what  you  've  been 
to  me,  little  pilgrim." 

"I  have  n't  forgotten  the  boy  who  rode  up  Es- 
condido  Canon  to  save  me  from  death  and  dis- 
honor," Pauline  cried  softly. 

"You've  paid  that  debt  fifty  times.  I  owe  you 
more  than  I  can  tell.  I  wisht  I  knew  a  way  to  pay 
it." 

Her  soft  and  dusky  eyes  clung  to  his  pleadingly. 
"If  you  get  away,  Jim,  you  will  be  good,  won't 
you?" 

"  I  '11  be  as  good  as  I  've  got  it  in  me  to  be.  I  don't 
know  how  good  that  is,  Polly.  But  I  '11  do  my  level 
best." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  she  whispered.  "Good  luck 
—  heaps  of  it." 

He  was  not  quite  sure  whether  it  was  his  privilege 


A  Man  Four-Square  257 

to  kiss  the  parted  red  lips  upturned  to  him,  but  he 
took  a  chance  and  was  not  rebuked. 

Pauline  went  noiselessly  down  the  steps  again 
into  the  cellar  while  Clanton  held  the  trapdoor.  He 
lowered  it  inch  by  inch  so  that  it  would  not  creak, 
then  spread  over  it  the  Navajo  rug  that  had  been 
there  before  the  entrance  of  the  girl. 

Pierre  Roubideau  was  still  on  his  first  pipe  when 
Polly  came  round  the  corner  of  the  house  and 
stopped  at  the  porch  steps. 

"I  want  to  show  you  our  new  colt,  Jack,"  she 
said  to  the  deputy.  This  matter-of-fact  statement 
came  a  little  shyly  and  a  little  tremulously  from 
her  lips.  Her  heart  was  beating  furiously. 

The  officer  rose  at  once.  "Just  a  minute,"  he 
said,  and  went  into  the  house. 

He  unlocked  the  door  of  the  room  where  Clan- 
ton  was  and  glanced  in.  The  prisoner  lay  on  the 
bed  in  the  moonlight,  the  blankets  drawn  over 
him.  From  his  deep,  regular  breathing  Jack  judged 
him  to  be  asleep.  He  relocked  the  door  and  joined 
Pauline. 

The  face  of  the  girl  was  very  white  in  the  moon- 
light. Her  big  eyes  flashed  at  him  a  question.  Had 
he  discovered  that  his  prisoner  was  free? 

They  walked  slowly  toward  the  corral.  From  it 
Goodheart  could  see  the  front  of  the  house,  but 
not  the  cellar  entrance  at  the  side.  Neither  of  them 
spoke  until  they  reached  the  fence.  He  turned  and 
leaned  his  elbows  against  it,  facing  the  house. 

Pauline  was  under  great  nervous  tension.  Her 
lips  were  dry  and  her  throat  parched.  If  the  guard 


258  A  Man  Four-Square 

at  the  rear  caught  sight  of  the  prisoner  while  he  was 
escaping,  Clanton  would  certainly  be  shot  down. 
She  knew  Jim  better  than  to  hope  that  he  would 
let  himself  be  taken  again  alive. 

The  conscience  of  the  girl  troubled  her  too.  She 
was  doing  this  to  save  the  life  of  a  friend,  but  it  was 
impossible  not  to  feel  a  sense  of  treachery  toward 
this  other  friend  whose  approval  was  so  much  more 
vital  to  her  happiness.  Would  Jack  think  that  she 
had  conspired  against  his  honor  in  an  underhanded 
way?  He  was  a  man  of  strict  principles.  Would  he 
cast  her  off  and  have  no  more  to  do  with  her? 

She  woke  from  her  worries  to  discover  that  an 
emotional  climax  was  imminent.  Jack  was  telling 
her,  in  awkward,  broken  phrases,  of  his  love  for  her. 
Polly  had  waited  a  long  time  for  his  confession,  but 
coming  at  this  hour  it  filled  her  with  shame  and 
distress.  What  an  evil  chance  that  he  should  be 
blurting  out  the  story  of  his  faith  and  trust  in  her 
while  she  was  in  the  act  of  betraying  him ! 

66 Don't,  Jack,  don't!"  she  begged. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said  gently.  "I  know  you 
don't  care  for  me.  But  I  had  to  tell  you.  Just  had  to 
do  it.  Could  n't  keep  still  any  longer.  It 's  all  right, 
Polly.  I  can  stand  it.  I  did  n't  go  for  to  worry  you." 

She  wept. 

Her  tears  distressed  him.  He  urged  her  to  forget 
his  presumption.  She  had  been  so  good  to  him  that 
he  had  spoken  in  spite  of  himself. 

Pauline  found  she  could  not  let  him  deceive  him- 
self. If  she  let  him  go  now,  perhaps  he  might  never 
come  back. 


A  Man  Four-Square  259 

"You  goose!" 

Though  the  words  came  smothered  through  her 
handkerchief,  he  gained  incredible  comfort  from 
them. 

"Polly!"  he  cried. 

"Don't  you  say  a  word,  Jack,"  she  ordered. 
"Let  me  do  the  talking." 

"If  you'll  tell  me  that  — ■  that  —  you  care  any- 
thing for  —  for  —  " 

"  — ■  For  a  big  stupid  who  is  too  modest  ever  to 
think  enough  of  himself,"  she  completed.  "Well,  I 
do.  I  care  a  great  deal  for  him." 

"You  don't  mean  —  " 

"I  do,  too.  That's  just  what  I  mean.  No,  you 
keep  back  there  till  I'm  through,  Jack.  I  want  to 
find  out  if  you  love  me  as  much  as  I  do  you." 

"Polly!"  he  cried  a  second  time. 

Her  small  face  was  very  serious  and  white  in  the 
moonshine. 

"  Suppose  we  don't  agree  about  something.  Say 
I  do  a  thing  that  seems  right  to  me,  but  it  does  n't 
seem  right  to  you.  What  then?" 

"It'll  seem  right  to  me  if  you  do  it,"  he  answered. 

"That's  just  a  compliment." 

"No,  it's  the  truth.  Whatever  you  do  seerns 
right  to  me." 

"But  suppose  I  do  something  that  you  think  is 
wrong.   Perhaps  it  may  seem  to  you  disloyal." 

"If  you  do  it  because  you  think  you  ought  to 
I'll  not  find  it  disloyal." 

"Sure,  Jack?" 

"Certain  sure,"  he  answered. 


260  A  Man  Four-Square 

"It's  a  promise?" 

"It's  a  promise." 

Little  imps  of  mischief  bubbled  into  the  brown 
eyes.   "Then  why  don't  you  kiss  me,  goose?" 

He  caught  her  to  him  with  a  fierce  rapture. 

There  came  to  them  the  sudden  sound  of  drum- 
ming hoofs.  A  shot  rang  out  in  the  night.  Good- 
heart,  with  the  first  kiss  of  his  sweetheart  almost 
on  his  lips,  flung  Pauline  aside  and  ran  to  the  house. 

The  other  guard  met  him  at  the  front  steps.  "By 
God,  he's  gone!"  the  man  cried. 

"Clanton?" 

"Yep." 

"Can't  be.  He  was  handcuffed,  tied  to  the  bed, 
and  locked  in.  I've  got  the  key  in  my  pocket." 

The  deputy  sheriff  took  the  steps  at  one  bound, 
flung  himself  across  the  parlor,  and  unlocked  the 
door.  One  glance  showed  him  the  empty  bed,  the 
displaced  rug,  and  the  trapdoor.  He  stepped  for- 
ward and  picked  up  the  bits  of  rope  and  the  hand- 
cuffs. 

"Some  one  cut  the  rope  and  freed  him,"  he  said, 
confounded  at  the  impossibility  of  the  thing  that 
had  occurred. 

"Must  of  slipped  his  hands  out  of  the  cuffs,  looks 
like,"  the  guard  suggested. 

"He  got  me  to  give  him  a  bigger  size  —  com* 
plained  they  chafed  his  wrists." 

"Some  trick  that,  if  he  has  got  kid  hands." 

The  chill  eyes  of  Goodheart  gimleted  into  those 
of  his  assistant.  "Did  you  do  this,  Brad?  God  help 
you  if  you  did." 


A  Man  Four-Square  261 

A  light  step  sounded  on  the  threshold.  Pauline 
came  into  the  room.  "I  did  it,  Jack,"  she  said. 

"You!" 

"I  came  up  through  the  trapdoor  when  I  was  in 
the  cellar.  I  cut  the  rope  and  told  him  there  was  a 
horse  saddled  in  the  aspens." 

Thoughts  raced  in  his  bewildered  mind.  She  had 
planned  all  this  carefully.  Almost  under  his  very 
eyes  she  had  done  it.  Then  she  had  lured  him  from 
the  house  to  give  Clanton  a  better  chance.  She  had 
let  him  make  love  to  her  so  that  she  could  keep  him 
at  the  corral  while  the  prisoner  escaped.  It  was  all 
a  trick.  Even  now  she  was  laughing  up  her  sleeve 
at  the  way  she  had  made  a  fool  of  him. 

"You  saddled  the  horse  and  left  it  there."  His 
statement  was  a  question,  too. 

"Yes.  I  had  to  save  him.  I  knew  he  was  inno- 
cent." 

All  the  explanations  she  had  intended  shriveled 
up  before  the  scorn  in  his  eyes.  He  brushed  past 
her  without  a  word  and  strode  out  of  the  house. 

Pauline  went  to  her  room  and  flung  herself  on  the 
bed.  After  a  time  her  father  came  in  and  sat  down 
beside  the  girl.  He  put  a  gentle  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"I  know  what  you  think,  dad,"  she  said  without 
turning  her  head.  "But  I  could  n't  help  it.  I  had 
to  do  it." 

"It  may  make  you  trouble,  ma  petite." 

"I  can't  help  that.  Jim  didn't  kill  Mr.  Webb. 
I  know  it." 

"After  a  fair  trial  a  jury  said  he  did,  Polly.  We 
have  to  take  their  word  for  it." 


262  A  Man  Four-Square 

"You  think  I  did  wrong  then." 

"You  did  what  you  think  was  right.  In  my  heart 
is  no  blame  for  you." 

He  comforted  her  as  best  he  could  and  left  her 
to  sleep.  But  she  did  not  sleep.  All  through  the 
night  she  lay  and  listened.  She  was  miserably  un- 
happy. Her  head  and  her  heart  ached.  Jack  had 
promised  that  she  should  be  the  judge  of  what  was 
right  for  her  to  do,  and  at  the  first  test  he  had  failed 
her.  She  made  excuses  for  him,  but  the  hurt  of  her 
disappointment  could  not  be  assuaged. 

In  the  early  morning  she  heard  the  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs  in  the  yard.  During  the  night  she  had 
not  undressed.  Now  she  rose  and  went  out  to  meet 
her  lover.  He  was  at  the  stable,  a  gaunt  figure,  hol- 
low-eyed, dusty,  and  stern.  He  had  failed  to  re- 
capture his  prisoner. 

"Jack,"  she  pleaded,  reaching  out  a  hand  timidly 
toward  him. 

Again  he  rejected  her  advance  in  grim  silence. 
Swinging  to  the  saddle,  he  rode  out  of  the  gate  and 
down  the  road  toward  Live-Oaks. 

With  a  little  whimper  Polly  moved  blindly  to  the 
house  through  her  tears. 


Chapter  XXXII 

Jim  Takes  a  Prisoner 

After  Goodheart  left  the  room  where  his  prisoner 
was  confined,  Clanton  waited  a  few  moments  till 
the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had  died  away.  He  rose, 
moved  noiselessly  across  the  floor,  and  raised  the 
trapdoor  slowly.  The  creaking  of  the  rusty  hinges 
seemed  to  Jim  to  be  shouting  aloud  the  news  of  his 
escape.  The  young  fellow  descended  into  the  cellar 
and  stood  there  without  moving  till  his  eyes  became 
accustomed  to  the  darkness.  He  groped  his  way  to 
the  door,  which  Pauline  had  left  open  an  inch  or 
two.  Carefully  he  edged  through  and  crouched  in 
the  gloom  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

Not  far  away  some  one  was  whistling  cheerfully. 
Clanton  recognized  the  tune  as  the  usual  musical 
offertory  of  Brad.  He  was  giving  "Uncle  Ned"  to 
an  unappreciative  world. 

The  fugitive  crept  up  the  steps  and  peered  over 
the  top.  Brad  was  sitting  on  a  bench  against  the 
wall.  Evidently  he  was  quite  comfortable  and  had 
no  intention  of  moving.  The  guard  was  so  near  that 
it  would  not  be  a  fair  risk  to  try  to  make  a  dash 
across  the  moonlit  open  for  the  aspen  grove.  He 
was  so  far  that  before  the  prisoner  could  reach  him 
his  gun  would  be  in  action.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  wait.  Jim  huddled  against  the  sustaining 
wall  while  with  the  passing  minutes  his  chance  of 
escape  slipped  away. 


264  A  Man  Four-Square 

Pierre  Roubideau  came  round  the  corner  of  the 
house  and  joined  Brad.  The  guard  made  room  for 
him  on  the  bench.  If  Roubideau  sat  down,  the  man 
in  the  shadow  knew  he  was  lost.  They  would  sit 
there  and  chat  till  Goodheart  came  back  and  dis- 
covered his  absence. 

The  rancher  hesitated  while  he  felt  for  his  pipe. 
"  Reckon  I  left  it  in  the  kitchen,"  he  said. 

Brad  followed  him  round  the  corner  of  the  house. 
Clanton  waited  no  longer.  They  might  return,  or 
they  might  not.  He  did  not  intend  to  stay  to  find 
out. 

Swiftly  he  ran  toward  the  aspens.  Half  the  dis- 
tance he  had  covered  when  a  voice  called  sharply  to 
halt.  The  guard  had  turned  and  caught  sight  of 
him. 

The  feet  of  the  running  man  slapped  the  ground 
faster.  As  he  dodged  into  the  trees  a  bullet  flew 
past  him.  Yet  a  moment,  and  he  had  flung  himself 
astride  the  bronco  waiting  there  and  had  electrified 
that  sleepy  animal  into  life. 

The  pony  struck  its  stride  immediately.  It  took 
the  rising  ground  at  a  gallop,  topped  the  hill,  and 
disappeared  over  the  brow.  The  rider  plunged  into 
the  thick  mesquite.  He  knew  that  Goodheart  would 
pursue,  but  he  knew,  too,  that  the  odds  were  a 
hundred  to  one  against  capture  if  he  could  put  a 
mile  or  two  between  him  and  the  Roubideau  ranch. 
A  man  could  vanish  in  any  one  of  fifty  draws.  He 
could  find  a  temporary  hiding-place  up  any  gulch 
under  cover  of  the  matted  brush.  Therefore  he 
turned  toward  the  mountains. 


A  Man  Four-Square  265 

Since  he  was  unarmed,  it  was  essential  that 
Clanton  should  get  into  touch  with  his  associates 
of  the  chaparral  at  once.  Until  he  had  a  six-gun 
strapped  to  his  side  and  a  carbine  under  his  leg  he 
would  not  feel  comfortable.  All  night  he  traveled, 
winding  in  and  out  of  canons,  crossing  divides,  and 
dipping  down  into  little  mountain  parks.  He  knew 
exactly  where  he  wanted  to  go,  and  he  moved  to- 
ward his  destination  in  the  line  of  greatest  economy. 

Morning  found  him  descending  from  a  mountain 
pass  to  the  Ruidosa. 

"Breakfast  soon,  you  wall-faced  old  Piute,"  Jim 
told  his  mount.  "You're  sure  a  weary  caballo,  but 
we  got  to  keep  hitting  the  trail  till  we  cross  that 
hogback." 

A  thin  film  of  smoke  rose  from  a  little  valley  to 
the  left.  Clanton  drew  up  abruptly.  He  had  no 
desire  to  meet  now  any  strangers  whose  intentions 
had  not  been  announced. 

Swiftly,  with  a  pantherish  smoothness  of  motion, 
he  slid  from  the  cowpony  and  moved  to  the  edge  of 
a  bluff  that  looked  down  into  the  arroyo  below.  He 
crept  forward  and  peered  through  a  clump  of  cactus 
growing  at  the  edge  of  the  escarpment. 

The  camp-fire  was  at  the  very  foot  of  the  bluff. 
A  man  was  stooped  over  it  cooking  breakfast. 

The  heart  of  the  fugitive  lost  a  beat,  then  raced 
wildly.  The  camper  was  Devil  Dave  Roush.  A 
rifle  lay  beside  him.  His  revolver  was  in  a  cartridge 
belt  that  had  been  tossed  on  a  boulder  within  reach 
of  his  hand. 

Clanton  wriggled  back  without  a  sound  from  the 


266  A  Man  Four-Square 

edge  of  the  cliff  and  rose  to  his  feet.  A  savage 
light  of  triumph  blazed  in  his  eyes.  The  enemy 
for  whom  he  had  long  sought  was  delivered  into 
his  hands.  He  ran  back  to  the  bronco  and  untied 
the  reata  from  the  tientos.  Deftly  he  coiled  the 
rope  and  adjusted  the  loop  to  suit  him.  Again  he 
stole  to  the  rim  rock  and  waited  with  the  stealthy, 
deadly  patience  of  the  crouched  cougar. 

Roush  rose.  His  arms  fell  to  his  sides.  Instantly 
the  rope  dropped,  uncoiling  as  it  flew.  With  per- 
fect accuracy  the  loop  descended  upon  its  victim 
and  tightened  about  his  waist,  pinning  the  arms 
close  to  the  body. 

Clanton  hauled  in  the  rawhide  swiftly.  Dragged 
from  his  feet,  Roush  could  make  no  resistance. 
Before  he  could  gather  his  startled  wits,  he  found 
himself  dangling  in  midair  against  the  face  of  the 
rock  wall. 

The  man  above  fastened  the  end  of  the  rope  to 
the  roots  of  a  scrub  oak  and  ran  down  the  slope  at 
full  speed.  In  less  than  half  a  minute  he  was  stand- 
ing breathless  in  front  of  his  prisoner. 

Already  shaken  with  dread,  Roush  gave  way  to 
panic  fear  at  sight  of  him. 

"Goddlemighty!  It's  Clanton!"  he  cried. 

Jim  buckled  on  the  belt  and  appropriated  the 
rifle.  His  grim  face  told  Roush  all  he  needed  to 
know. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Roush,  full  of  phys- 
ical life  and  energy,  had  boasted  that  he  feared  no 
living  man.  In  his  cups  he  still  bragged  of  his  bad 
record,  of  his  accuracy  as  a  gunman,  of  his  game- 


A  Man  Four-Square  267 

ness.  But  he  knew,  and  his  associates  suspected, 
that  Devil  Dave  had  long  since  drunk  up  his  cour- 
age. His  nerves  were  jumpy  and  his  heart  bad. 
Now  he  begged  for  his  life  abjectly.  If  he  had  been 
free  from  the  rope  that  held  him  dangling  against 
the  wall,  he  would  have  crawled  like  a  whipped  cur 
to  the  feet  of  his  enemy. 

At  a  glance  Clanton  saw  Roush  had  been  camp- 
ing alone.  The  hobbled  horse,  the  blankets,  the 
breakfast  dishes,  all  told  him  this.  But  he  took 
no  chances.  First  he  saddled  the  horse  and  brought 
it  close  to  the  camp-fire.  When  he  sat  down  to 
eat  the  breakfast  the  rustler  had  cooked,  it  was 
with  his  back  to  the  bluff  and  the  rifle  across  his 
knees. 

"This  here  rope  hurts  tur'ble  —  seems  like  my 
wrists  are  on  fire,"  whined  the  man.  "You  let  me 
down,  Mr.  Clanton,  and  I'll  explain  eve'ything. 
I  want  to  be  yore  friend.  I  sure  do.  I  don't  feel 
noways  onfriendly  to  you.  Mebbe  I  used  to  be  a 
bad  lot,  but  I'm  a  changed  man  now." 

Go-Get-'Em  Jim  said  nothing.  He  had  not 
spoken  once,  and  his  silence  filled  the  roped  man 
with  terror.  The  shifting  eyes  of  Devil  Dave  read 
doom  in  the  cold,  still  ones  of  his  enemy. 

Sometimes  Roush  argued  in  a  puling  whimper. 
Sometimes  his  terror  rose  to  the  throat  and  his 
entreaties  became  shrieks.  He  died  a  dozen  deaths 
while  his  foe  watched  him  with  a  chill  stillness  more 
menacing  than  any  threats. 

The  first  impulse  of  Clanton  had  been  to  stamp 
out  the  life  of  this  man  just  as  he  would  that  of  a 


268  A  Man  Four-Square 

diamond-backed  rattlesnake;  but  he  meant  to  takfc 
his  time  about  it  and  to  see  that  the  fellow  suffered. 
Not  until  he  was  halfway  through  the  meal  did  the 
memory  of  his  pledge  to  Pauline  jump  to  his  mind. 
Quickly  he  pushed  it  from  him.  He  had  not  meant 
to  include  Roush  in  his  promise.  As  soon  as  he  had 
made  an  end  of  this  ruffian  he  would  turn  over  a 
new  leaf.  But  not  yet.  Roush  was  outside  the  pale. 
His  life  belonged  to  Jim.  He  would  be  a  traitor  to 
the  memory  of  his  sister  if  he  let  the  villain  go. 

The  lust  for  vengeance  swelled  in  the  young 
man's  blood  like  a  tide.  It  was  his  right  to  kill; 
more,  it  was  his  duty.  So  he  tried  to  persuade  him- 
self. But  deep  within  him  a  voice  was  making  it- 
self heard.  It  whispered  that  if  he  killed  Roush 
now,  he  could  never  look  Pauline  Roubideau  in  the 
face  again.  She  had  fought  gallantly  for  his  soul, 
and  at  last  he  had  pledged  his  honor  to  a  new 
course.  Not  twelve  hours  ago  she  had  risked  her 
reputation  to  save  his  life.  If  he  failed  her  now,  it 
would  be  a  betrayal  of  all  the  desires  and  purposes 
that  had  of  late  been  stirring  in  him. 

Clammy  beads  of  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead. 
He  had  been  given  a  new  chance,  and  it  warred 
with  every  inherited  instinct  of  his  nature.  The 
fight  within  was  cruel  and  bitter.  But  when  he 
rose,  his  breakfast  forgotten,  it  was  won.  He 
would  let  Roush  go  unhurt.  He  would  do  it  for 
the  sake  of  Polly  Roubideau,  who  had  been  such  a 
good  friend  to  him. 

Devil  Dave,  ghastly  with  fear,  was  still  pleading 
for  his  life.    Clanton,  who  had  heard  nothing  of 


A  Man  Four-Square  269 

what  the  fellow  had  been  saying  in  the  past  ten 
minutes,  came  to  a  sudden  alert  attention. 

"I'll  go  into  court  an'  swear  it  if  you'll  let  me 
be.  I  '11  tell  the  jedge  an'  the  jury  that  Joe  Yankie 
told  me  an'  Albeen  an'  Dumont  that  he  bush- 
whacked Webb  an'  then  cut  his  stick  so  that  you- 
all  got  the  blame.  Honest  to  God,  I  will,  Mr.  Clan- 
ton.  Jest  you  trust  me  an'  see." 

"When  did  Yankie  tell  you  that?" 

"He  done  told  us  at  the  camp-fire  one  night.  He 
made  his  brags  how  you  got  the  blame  for  it  an' 
would  have  to  hang." 

"Albeen  heard  him  say  it  —  an'  Dumont  too?" 

"Tha's  right,  Mr.  Clanton.  An'  I'll  sure  take 
my  Bible  oath  on  it." 

Go-Get-'Em  Jim  whipped  out  the  forty-five  from 
its  holster  and  fired.  Roush  dropped  screaming  to 
the  ground.  He  thought  he  had  been  shot.  The 
bullet  had  cut  the  rope  above  his  head. 

"Get  up,"  ordered  Clanton  in  disgust. 

Roush  rose  stiffly. 

Jim  swung  to  the  saddle  of  the  horse  beside  him. 
"Hit  the  dust,"  he  told  his  captive. 

The  rider  followed  the  footman  to  the  top  of  the 
bluff.  Here  Roush  was  instructed  to  mount  the 
horse  Clanton  had  been  astride  all  night.  Riding 
behind  the  tame  bad  man,  Jim  cut  across  the  hills 
to  a  gulch  and  followed  it  till  the  ravine  ran  out  in 
a  little  valley.  He  crossed  this  and  climbed  a  stiff 
pass  from  the  other  side  of  which  he  looked  down  on 
Live-Oaks  a  thousand  feet  below. 

The  young  man  tied  the  hands  of  his  prisoner 


270  A  Man  Four-Square 

behind  him.  From  a  coat  pocket  he  drew  a  looking- 
glass,  caught  the  sun's  rays,  and  flung  them  upon 
a  house  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town. 

Out  of  the  house  there  presently  came  a  man. 
He  stood  in  the  doorway  a  moment  before  going 
down  the  street.  A  flash  of  hot  sunlight  caught  him 
full  in  the  face.  He  moved.  The  light  danced  after 
him.  Then  he  woke  up.  From  the  cliff  far  above 
friends  of  his  had  been  wont  to  heliograph  signals 
during  the  late  Washington  County  War. 

He  read  the  light  flashes  and  at  once  saddled  a 
horse.  A  few  minutes  later  he  might  have  been  seen 
on  the  breakneck  trail  that  leads  across  the  moun- 
tains to  the  Ruidosa.  After  a  stiff  climb  he  reached 
the  summit  and  swung  sharply  along  the  ridge  to 
the  right.  A  voice  hailed  him. 

"Hello,  Reb!" 

"Hello,  Go-Get-'Em!  Thought  Goodheart  was 
bringin'  you  back  a  prisoner."  Quantrell's  old 
guerrilla  looked  with  unconcealed  surprise  at  the 
bound  man.  He  knew  the  story  of  Clanton's  deep- 
rooted  hatred  of  the  Roush  clan. 

"I  did  n't  sign  any  bond  to  stay  his  prisoner," 
Jim  answered  dryly.  Then,  sharply,  he  turned 
upon  Roush.  "Spill  out  yore  story  about  Yankie." 

Reluctantly  Roush  told  once  more  his  tale.  He 
spoke  only  under  the  pressure  of  imminent  peril, 
for  he  knew  that  if  this  ever  got  back  to  the  men 
in  the  chaparral  they  would  kill  him  with  no  more 
compunction  than  they  would  a  coyote. 

"Take  this  bird  down  to  Billie  Prince,  Reb.  Tell 
him  I  jumped  Roush  on  the  Ruidosa  an'  he  peached 


A  Man  Four-Square  271 

to  save  his  hide.  This  fellow  is  a  born  liar,  but  I 
reckon  he's  tellin'  the  truth  this  time.  If  he  rues 
back  on  his  story,  tell  Billie  to  put  an  advertise- 
ment in  the  Live-Oaks  *  Round-Up'  and  I'll  drop 
in  to  town  an'  have  a  stance  with  Mr.  Roush." 

Reb  scratched  his  sunburnt  head. '  "I  don't  aim 
to  be  noways  inquisitive,  Go-Get-'Em,  but  how- 
come  you  to  wait  long  enough  to  take  this  hawss- 
thief  captive?  I  'd  'a'  bet  my  best  mule  team  against 
a  dollar  Mex  that  you'd  have  gunned  him  on 
sight." 

"I'll  tell  you  why,  Reb.  He  had  one  rifle  an' 
one  six-gun.  I  did  n't  have  either  the  one  or  the 
other,  so  I  had  to  borrow  his  guns  before  I  talked 
turkey.  By  that  time  I  'd  changed  my  mind  about 
bumpin'  him  off  right  now.  When  Yankie  finds 
out  what  he's  been  sayin'  he'll  do  the  trick  for  me." 

"You're  right  he  will.  Good  job,  too.  I  hate  a 
sneak  like  I  do  a  side-winder."  Reb  turned  to  his 
prisoner.  "  Git  a  move  on  you,  Roush.  I  want  this 
job  over  with.  I'm  no  coyote  herder." 


Chapter  XXXIII 

The  Round-Up 
Dumont  had  been  on  the  grill  for  three  hours.  He 
had  taken  refuge  in  dogged  silence.  He  had  been 
badgered  into  lies.  He  had  broken  down  at  last 
and  told  the  truth.  Sheriff  Billie  Prince,  keen  as  a 
hound  on  the  scent,  persistent  as  a  bulldog,  pep- 
pered the  man's  defense  with  a  machine-gun  fire  of 
questions.  Back  of  these  loomed  the  shadow  of  a 
long  term  in  the  penitentiary. 

For  Dumont  had  been  caught  with  his  iron  hot. 
The  acrid  smell  of  burnt  flesh  was  still  in  the' air 
when  an  angry  cattleman  and  two  of  his  riders  came 
on  the  man  and  the  rustled  calf.  Fortunately  for 
the  thief  the  sheriff  happened  to  be  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. He  had  rescued  the  captured  waddy  from 
the  hands  of  the  incensed  ranchers  and  brought 
him  straight  to  Live-Oaks. 

The  rustler  was  frightened.  There  had  been  a 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour  when  it  looked  as  though 
he  might  be  the  central  figure  in  a  lynching.  Even 
after  this  danger  had  been  weathered,  the  outlook 
was  full  of  gloom.  He  had  to  choose  between  a  long 
prison  sentence  and  the  betrayal  of  his  comrades. 
Dumont  had  no  iron  in  his  blood.  He  dodged  and 
evaded  and  bluffed  —  and  at  last  threw  up  his  hands. 
If  the  sheriff  would  protect  him  from  the  vengeance 
of  the  gang,  he  would  give  any  information  wanted 
or  do  anything  he  was  told  to  do. 


A  Man  Four-Square  27s 

The  arrival  of  Reb  and  his  prisoner  interrupted 
the  quiz.  Prince  had  Dumont  returned  to  his  cell 
and  took  up  the  new  business  of  Roush  and  his 
story.  The  sheriff  knew  he  would  be  blamed  for 
the  escape  of  Clanton  and  he  thought  it  wise  to 
have  the  whole  matter  opened  up  before  witnesses. 
Wallace  Snaith  and  Dad  Wrayburn  both  happened 
to  be  in  town  and  Billie  sent  the  boss  mule-skinner 
to  bring  them.  To  these  men  he  turned  over  the 
examination  of  Roush. 

They  wrung  from  him,  a  scrap  at  a  time,  the 
story  Yankie  had  told  his  confederates  at  the 
camp-fire.  A  statement  of  the  facts  was  drawn  up 
and  signed  by  Roush  under  protest.  It  was  wit- 
nessed by  the  four  men  present. 

Devil  Dave  was  locked  up  and  Dumont  brought 
back  to  the  office  of  the  sheriff.  Taken  by  surprise 
at  the  new  form  of  the  questionnaire,  already 
broken  in  spirit  and  therefore  eager  to  conciliate 
these  powerful  citizens,  the  rustler  at  once  corrob- 
orated the  story  of  Roush.  He,  too,  signed  a 
statement  drawn  up  by  Prince. 

"Just  shows,  doggone  it,  how  a  man  can  be  too 
blamed  sure,"  commented  Wrayburn.  "I'd  'a' 
bet  my  life  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  killed  Webb.  But  he 
did  n't.  It 's  plain  enough  now.  After  his  rookus 
with  the  old  man,  Yankie  must  have  got  a  seventy- 
three  an'  waited  in  the  chaparral.  It  just  happened 
he  was  lyin'  hid  close  to  where  we  met  Clanton. 
It  beats  the  Dutch." 

"An'  if  Jim  hadn't  escaped  he'd  have  been 
hanged  for  killin'  Webb." 


274  A  Man  Four-Square 

"That's  right,  sheriff.  On  my  testimony,  too. 
Say,  let  me  go  to  the  Governor  with  these  papers 
an*  git  the  pardon.  I'd  like  to  give  it  to  the  boy 
myself,  jest  to  show  him  there's  no  hard  feelin's," 
urged  Wrayburn. 

"That's  all  right,  Dad.  I'm  goin'  to  be  right 
busy  this  next  week,  I  should  n't  wonder.  I  've  got 
business  up  in  the  hills." 

"If  you're  goin'  on  a  round-up,  I  hope  you  make 
a  good  gather,  Prince,"  said  Snaith,  smiling. 

Not  in  the  history  of  Washington  County  had 
there  been  another  such  a  round-up  as  this  one  of 
which  Sheriff  Prince  was  the  boss.  He  made  his 
plans  swiftly  and  thoroughly.  His  posses  were  to 
sweep  the  country  between  Saco  de  Oro  Creek  and 
Caballero  Canon.  Every  gap  was  to  be  stopped, 
every  exit  guarded.  Dumont,  much  against  his 
will,  rode  beside  the  sheriff  as  guide.  Goodheart  had 
charge  of  the  first  party  that  went  out.  His  duty 
was  to  swing  round  and  close  the  gulches  to  the 
north.  Here  he  would  wait  until  the  hunted  men 
were  driven  into  the  trap  he  had  set.  Old  Reb,  with 
a  second  posse,  started  next  morning  for  the  head- 
waters of  Seven-Mile  Creek.  An  hour  later  the 
sheriff  himself  took  the  road.  He  left  town  sooner 
than  he  had  intended  because  Roush  had  escaped 
during  the  night  and  was  probably  on  his  way  into 
the  hills  to  warn  the  rustlers. 

Get  them  in  a  talkative  mood  and  old-timers 
who  took  part  in  it  will  still  tell  the  story  of  that 
man-drive  in  the  mountains.  Riders  combed  the 
draws  and  the  buttes,  eyes  and  ears  alert  for  those 


A  Man  Four-Square  275 

who  might  lie  hidden  on  the  rim  rocks  or  in  the 
cactus.  It  was  grim  business.  Driven  out  of  their 
holes,  the  rustlers  fought  savagely.  One,  trapped 
in  a  hill  pocket,  stood  off  a  posse  till  he  was  shot 
to  death.  A  second  was  wounded,  captured,  and 
sent  back  with  two  other  suspects  to  Live-Oaks . 
At  the  end  of  a  week  Prince  had  the  remnant  of  the 
band  surrounded  in  a  mountain  park  close  to  Ca- 
ballero  Caiion. 

The  country  into  which  the  outlaws  had  been 
driven  was  an  ideal  terrain  for  defense.  The  brush 
was  thick  and  tall.  Two  wooded  arroyos  gashed 
the  rim  of  the  valley  and  ran  down  into  the  ba- 
sin. An  attack  against  determined  men  here  was 
bound  to  prove  costly. 

Billie  knew  that  three  men  lay  in  the  chaparral 
and  he  believed  that  one  of  them  at  least  was 
wounded.  Old  Reb  had  jumped  them  up  from  a 
fireless  camp,  and  in  their  hurry  to  escape  the  out- 
laws had  left  all  their  provisions  and  two  of  their 
horses.  They  left,  too,  one  of  the  posse  with  a  bul- 
let hole  in  his  forehead.  The  sheriff's  plan  was 
to  tighten  the  lines  gradually  and  starve  out  the 
rustlers. 

But  though  Prince  would  not  let  his  men  ad- 
vance to  a  general  assault,  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  find  out  more  as  to  the  condition  of  the  men  he 
had  surrounded.  He  wanted  to  make  sure  they 
had  not  slipped  past  his  guards  into  Caballero 
Canon.  In  the  back  of  his  head,  too,  was  the  feel- 
ing that  if  he  could  get  into  touch  with  them,  per- 
haps he  might  arrange  for  a  surrender. 


276  A  Man  Four-Square 

He  called  Goodheart  to  one  side.  "As  soon  as 
it's  dark  I'm  goin'  in  to  find  out  what's  doin'.  We 
have  n't  heard  a  murmur  from  these  birds  for 
hours.  Perhaps  they  've  flown.  Anyhow,  I  'm  goin' 
to  find  out." 

"How  many  of  us  are  goin'?" 

"Just  one  of  us  —  Billie  Prince." 

"If  two  of  us  went  — " 

"It  would  double  the  chances  of  discovery.  No, 
I  'm  goin'  alone.  Maybe  I  can  have  a  talk  with  Al- 
been  or  Yankie.  I  don't  want  to  take  'em  dead,  but 
alive." 

"They'll  probably  get  you  while  you're  in  there, 
Prince." 

"I  don't  think  it.  But  if  I'm  not  back  by  morn- 
in'  you  are  in  charge  of  this  hunt.  Use  yore 
judgment." 

The  deputy  ventured  one  more  protest,  but  his 
chief  vetoed  it.  Billie  had  decided  what  to  do  and 
argument  did  not  touch  him. 

He  did  not  take  a  rifle.  In  the  thick  brush  it 
would  be  hard  to  handle  noiselessly  and  the  snap- 
ping of  a  twig  might  mean  the  difference  between 
life  and  death.  The  sheriff  slipped  into  the  tangle 
of  cat-claw,  prickly  pear,  and  mesquite,  vanishing 
into  the  gloom  from  the  sight  of  Goodheart. 

On  the  back  of  an  envelope  Dumont  had  drawn 
for  laim  a  rough  map  of  the  valley.  It  showed  that 
the  wooded  arroyos  ran  together  like  the  spokes 
of  a  wheel.  The  judgment  of  Prince  was  that  he 
must  look  for  the  men  he  wanted  close  to  the  angle 
of  intersection.  Up  one  or  the  other  of  these  draws 


A  Man  Four-Square  277 

it  was  likely  they  would  make  their  dash  for  free- 
dom, since  otherwise  they  would  have  to  emerge 
into  the  open.  Therefore,  they  would  hold  the  base 
of  the  V  in  order  not  to  be  cut  off  from  the  chance 
of  getting  out  of  the  trap. 

The  sheriff  snaked  forward,  most  of  the  time  on 
his  stomach  or  on  hands  and  knees,  for  what 
seemed  an  interminable  period.  Each  least  move- 
ment had  to  be  planned  and  executed  with  pre- 
cision. He  dared  not  risk  the  cracking  of  a  dead 
branch  or  the  rustle  of  dry  foliage.  As  silently  as 
an  Apache  he  wriggled  through  the  grass. 

JBillie  became  aware  of  a  sound  to  the  left.  He 
listened.  It  presently  defined  itself  as  a  wheezing 
rattle  halfway  between  a  cough  and  a  groan. 

Toward  it  Prince  deflected.  He  knew  himself 
to  be  now  in  the  acute  danger  zone,  and  he  in- 
creased if  possible  his  precautions.  The  moaning 
continued  intermittently.  Billie  wondered  why, 
if  this  were  the  camp  of  the  outlaws,  no  other 
sound  broke  the  stillness.  Closer,  inch  by  inch, 
making  the  most  of  every  bunch  of  yucca  and 
cholla,  the  officer  slowly  crept. 

The  figure  of  a  man  lay  in  the  sand,  the  head 
resting  on  a  folded  slicker.  From  time  to  time  it 
moved  slightly,  and  always  the  restlessness  was 
accompanied  by  the  little  throat  rattle  that  had 
first  attracted  the  attention  of  the  sheriff.  The 
face,  lying  full  in  the  moonlight,  was  of  a  ghastly 
pallor. 

Prince  lay  crouched  behind  a  pinon  till  he  was 
sure  the  man  was  alone.    It  was  possible  that  his 


278  A  Man  Four-Square 

confederates  might  return  at  any  moment,  but 
Billie  could  not  let  him  suffer  without  aid.  He 
stepped  forward,  revolver  in  hand,  every  sense 
ready  for  instant  response. 

The  wounded  man  was  Joe  Yankie.  The  expe- 
rienced eyes  of  Prince  told  him  that  the  rustler  had 
not  long  to  live.  He  was  already  in  that  twilight 
region  which  is  the  border  land  between  the  known 
and  the  unknown.  Billie  spoke  his  name,  and  for  a 
moment  the  eyes  of  the  man  cleared. 

"Yore  boys  got  me  when  they  jumped  our  camp/' 
le  explained  feebly. 

"Sorry,  Joe.  You  were  firm'  when  they  hit 
you." 

The  wounded  man  nodded.  "'Sail  right.  Streak 
<n  bad  luck.  Gimme  water.  I  'm  on  fire." 

The  officer  unbuckled  his  canteen,  lifted  the  head 
of  the  dying  man,  and  let  the  water  trickle  down 
his  throat.  Gently  he  lowered  the  head  again  to 
the  pillow. 

Then  he  asked  a  question.  "Where  are  Albeen 
and  —  Roush?" 

The  last  name  was  a  shot  in  the  dark,  but  it  hit 
the  bull's  eye. 

"Left  —  hours  ago." 

Yankie  closed  his  eyes  wearily,  but  by  sheer 
strength  of  will  Prince  recalled  him  from  the  doze 
into  which  he  was  slipping. 

"Did  you  kill  Homer  Webb?  " 

"Yes." 

"Had  Clanton  anything  to  do  with  it?" 

"No." 


A  Man  Four-Square  279 

A  film  gathered  over  the  eyes  of  the  dying  man. 
The  lids  closed.  Billie  adjusted  the  pillow  a  little 
more  comfortably  and  rose.  He  could  do  no  more 
for  him  at  present  and  he  must  set  about  his  work. 
For  though  the  net  of  the  round-up  had  gathered 
hundreds  of  stolen  cattle  and  most  of  those  en- 
gaged in  the  business  of  brand-blotting,  Prince 
knew  his  job  would  not  be  finished  if  Roush  and 
Albeen  escaped. 

He  quartered  over  the  ground  foot  by  foot.  The 
camp  of  the  rustlers  had  been  here  and  the  foot- 
steps showed  there  had  been  three.  Yankie  was 
accounted  for.  That  left  Roush  and  Albeen.  The 
sheriff  discovered  the  place  where  they  had  been 
sleeping. 

His  eyes  lit  with  the  eagerness  of  the  hunter  who 
has  come  on  the  spoor.  He  had  found  two  sets  of 
tracks  leading  from  the  bed-ground.  One  of  these 
showed  no  heel  marks  and  the  deep  impress  of  toes 
in  the  soft  sand.  The  other  presented  a  more 
sharply  defined  print  with  a  greater  distance  be- 
tween the  steps.  They  told  Billie  a  story  of  a  man 
tiptoeing  away  in  breathless  silence,  and  of  an- 
other man,  wakened  by  some  sound  or  by  some  pre- 
monition, pursuing  him  in  reckless  haste. 

The  imagination  of  the  trailer  built  up  a  web  of 
cause  and  effect.  Two  men,  with  only  one  horse, 
were  caught  in  a  trap  from  which  both  were  in  a 
desperate  hurry  to  escape.  Each,  no  doubt,  was 
filled  with  suspicion  of  the  other  while  they  waited 
for  darkness  to  fall  that  they  might  try  to  slip 
through  the  cordon  of  watchers.   One  of  the  two, 


280  A  Man  Four-Square 

at  least,  was  unknown.  If  he  could  make  a  get- 
away, and  leave  no  witness  behind,  there  would  be 
no  proof  positive  that  he  was  one  of  the  rustlers. 
The  situation  was  ripe  for  tragedy. 

In  the  back  of  the  sheriff's  mind  rose  thoughts 
of  something  sinister  that  had  happened  in  the 
early  hours  of  darkness.  A  chill  ran  down  his  spine. 
He  expected  presently  to  stumble  across  something 
cold  and  chill  that  only  a  little  while  ago  had  been 
warm  with  life. 

Prince  recognized  a  weakness  in  his  theory.  If 
Roush  was  the  man  who  had  tiptoed  toward  the 
horse  in  the  pines,  why  had  he  not  made  sure  first 
by  shooting  Albeen  while  he  slept?  There  was  no 
absolute  answer  to  that.  But  it  might  be  that  the 
one-armed  man  had  been  dozing  lightly  and  that 
Roush  had  not  the  nerve  to  take  a  chance.  For  if 
his  first  shot  failed  to  kill,  the  betrayed  man  could 
still  drop  him. 

The  trailer  had  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  Roush 
was  the  man  who  had  tried  to  slip  away  to  the 
horse.  Albeen  was  a  gun-fighter,  quick  on  the  shoot, 
hasty  of  temper,  but  with  the  reputation  of  being 
both  game  and  stanch.  It  would  not  be  in  char- 
acter for  him  to  leave  a  companion  in  the  lurch. 

In  the  scrub  pines  at  the  foot  of  the  arroyo  Prince 
found  the  place  where  a  horse  had  been  tied.  The 
footprints  had  diverged  sharply  toward  a  cluster 
of  big  boulders  that  rose  in  the  grove.  Billie  did  not 
at  once  follow  them.  He  wanted  to  make  sure  of 
another  point  first. 

Every  sense  alert  against  a  possible  surprise,  he 


A  Man  Four-Square  2$l 

studied  the  ground  around  the  spot  where  the 
bronco  had  been  fastened.  One  set  of  tracks  came 
straight  from  the  big  rocks  to  the  hitching  tree. 
Here  all  tracks  ended,  except  those  of  a  galloping 
horse  and  the  ones  made  by  the  man  who  had  origin 
nally  left  the  animal  here. 

One  man  had  gone  up  the  arroyo  to  slip  through 
or  to  fight  his  way  out  of  the  trap.  The  other  man 
had  stayed  here.  The  officer  knew  what  he  would 
find  lying  among  the  big  rocks.  1 

The  body  lay  face  down,  a  revolver  close  to  the 
still  hand.  Three  chambers  of  it  had  been  fired. 
Prince  turned  over  the  heavy  torso  and  looked  into 
the  contorted  face  of  Dave  Roush. 

The  man  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  own  treacheiy* 


Chapter  XXXIV 

Primrose  Paths 

When  Billie  Prince  had  finished  the  job  that  had 
been  given  him  to  do,  he  went  back  quietly  to 
Live-Oaks  without  knowing  that  he  had  led  the 
last  campaign  of  a  revolution  in  the  social  life 
of  Washington  County.  Because  a  strong,  deter- 
mined man  had  carried  law  into  the  mesquite,  citi- 
zens could  henceforth  go  about  their  business  with- 
out fear  or  dread. 

The  rule  of  the  "bad  man"  was  over.  Revolvers 
were  no  longer  a  part  of  the  necessary  wearing 
apparel  of  gentlemen  of  spirit.  Life  became  safe 
and  humdrum.  The  frontier  world  gave  itself  to 
ploughing  fields  and  building  fences  and  digging 
irrigation  ditches  and  planting  orchards.  As  a 
corollary  it  married  and  reared  children  and  built 
little  red  schoolhouses. 

But  before  all  this  came  to  pass  some  details 
had  to  be  arranged  in  the  lives  of  certain  young 
people  of  the  country.  In  one  instance,  at  least, 
Lee  Snaith  appointed  herself  adjuster  in  behalf  of 
Cupid. 

Uoodheart  reached  town  a  few  hours  earlier  than 
his  chief.  Lee  met  him  just  before  supper  in  front 
of  the  court-house. 

"Where's  Billie?"  she  asked  with  characteristic 
directness. 

"  He 's  on  his  way  back.  A  wounded  man  could  n't 


A  Man  Four-Square  283 

be  moved  an'  he  had  to  stay  with  him  a  while.  The 
man  was  Joe  Yankie.  A  messenger  just  got  in  to 
say  he  died." 

"Billie  is  n't  wounded?" 

"No.  Not  his  fault,  though.  When  we  had  the 
rustlers  cornered,  he  crawled  in  through  the  brush 
to  their  camp.  Fool  business,  I  told  him.  Never 
saw  anything  gamer.  Lucky  for  him  Albeen  had 
made  his  get-away." 

The  eyes  of  the  girl  thanked  the  deputy  for  this 
indirect  praise.  Little  patches  of  red  burned  in  her 
dusky  cheeks.  The  way  to  make  a  life  friend  of  her 
was  to  be  fond  of  Billie. 

Lee  changed  the  subject  abruptly.  "Jack,  yoti 
have  n't  half  the  sense  I  thought  you  had." 

"Much  obliged,"  he  answered  sardonically.  She 
was  looking  straight  at  him  and  he  knew  what  was 
in  her  mind. 

"If  I  was  a  man  —  and  if  the  nicest  girl  in  the 
world  was  in  love  with  me  —  I'd  try  not  to  be  as 
stiff  as  a  poker." 

"I'm  as  stiff  as  a  poker,  am  I?" 

"  Yes."  The  dark  eyes  of  the  young  woman  were 
eager  pools  of  light.  "She's  the  truest-hearted  girl 
I  ever  saw  —  the  best  friend,  the  loyalest  comrade. 
I  should  think  you'd  be  ashamed  to  set  yourself  up 
to  judge  her." 

"Of  course,  you're  not  settin'  yourself  up  to 
judge  me,  Lee?" 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I  think.  The  others 
are  afraid  of  you  because  you  can  put  on  that  high- 
and-mighty,  stand-offish  air.   Well,  I'm  not." 


284  A  Man  Four-Square 

"I  see  you're  not." 

"She  told  me  all  about  it.  Since  she  was  Polly 
Roubideau  she  had  to  help  Jim  escape.  Can't  you 
see  that?  She  knew  he  was  innocent,  and  it  turned 
out  she  was  right.  Suppose  she  made  a  mistake  — 
and  I  don't  admit  it  for  a  minute.  Can't  you  make 
allowance  for  other  folks'  judgment  being  different 
from  yours?  Are  you  never  wrong  yourself?" 

"It  is  n't  a  question  of  judgment." 

He  hesitated  and  decided  to  say  no  more.  How 
could  he  tell  Lee  that  Pauline  had  deliberately  mis- 
led him  to  give  Clanton  a  better  chance  of  escape? 
He  had  fought  it  out  a  hundred  times  in  his  mind, 
but  he  could  not  escape  the  conviction  that  she  had 
made  a  tool  of  his  love. 

The  girl  went  to  the  heart  of  the  matter.  "Polly 
loves  you,  and  she  is  breaking  her  heart  because  of 
your  wretched  pride.  If  you  don't  go  straight  to  her 
and  beg  her  pardon  for  your  want  of  faith  in  her, 
you're  not  half  the  man  I  think  you  are,  Jack 
Goodheart." 

A  warm  glow  of  hope  flushed  through  his  blood. 

"How  do  you  know  she  loves  me?" 

"Because  —  because  —  "  Lee  stopped.  She  did 
not  intend  to  betray  any  confidences.  "I  know  it. 
That's  enough." 

He  threw  away  impulsively  the  prudent  pride  that 
he  had  been  nourishing.  "  Where  can  I  find  Polly?  " 

"You're  being  invited  to  supper  at  my  aunt's 
this  evening.  I  'II  not  be  home  for  half  an  hour,  but 
if  you  go  right  up,  maybe  you  can  find  some  one  to 
entertain  you." 


A  Man  Four-Square  385 

He  buried  her  little  hand  in  his  big  paw  and 
strode  away.  She  watched  him,  a  soft  tenderness 
shining  in  her  eyes.  Lee  was  a  lover  herself,  and  she 
wanted  everybody  in  the  world  to  be  as  happy  as 
she  was. 

Two  horsemen  rode  down  the  street  toward  her. 
She  looked  up.  One  of  them  was  Billie  Prince,  the 
other  Jim  Clanton. 

The  younger  man  gave  a  shout  of  gay  greeting. 
"Yip-ee  yippy  yip."  He  leaned  from  the  cowpony 
and  gave  her  his  gloved  hand.  "I've  brought  him 
back  to  you.  He  sure  did  make  a  good  clean-up. 
I'm  the  only  bad  man  left  in  Washington  County." 

She  met  his  impudent  little  smile  with  friendly 
eyes.  "Dad  Wrayburn's  back  from  Santa  Fe  with 
the  pardon,  Jim.   I'm  so  glad." 

44  I  'm  some  glad  myself.  Do  you  want  me  to  shut 
my  eyes  whilst  you  an'  Billie  — " 

The  sheriff  knocked  the  rest  of  the  sentence  otrt 
of  him  with  a  vigorous  thump  on  the  back. 

While  Lee  and  her  lover  shook  hands  their  eyes 
held  fast  to  each  other. 

"Good  to  see  you,  Billie,"  she  said. 

"Same  here,  Lee." 

"When  you  and  Jim  have  put  up  your  horses  I 
want  you  to  come  up  to  aunt's  for  supper." 

"We'll  be  there." 

It  was  not  a  very  gay  little  supper.  Pauline  and 
Jack  Goodheart  had  very  little  to  say  for  them- 
selves, but  in  their  eyes  were  bright  pools  of  happi- 
ness. Clanton  sustained  the  burden  of  the  talk, 
assisted  in  a  desultory  fashion  by  Lee  and  Billie. 


286  A  Man  Four-Square 

But  there  was  so  much  quiet  joy  at  the  table  that 
for  years  the  hour  was  one  fenced  off  from  all  the 
others  of  their  lives.  Even  Jim,  who  for  the  first 
time  felt  himself  almost  an  outsider,  since  he  did 
not  belong  to  the  close  communion  of  lovers,  could 
find  plenty  for  which  to  be  thankful. 

He  made  an  announcement  before  he  left. 
"There's  no  room  here  for  me  now  that  you  lads 
are  marryin'  all  my  girls.  I  'm  goin'  to  hit  the  traiL 
It's  Texas  for  me.  I've  got  a  letter  in  my  pocket 
offerin'  me  a  job  as  a  Ranger  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  take 
it." 

They  shook  hands  with  him  in  warm  congratu- 
lation. Their  friend  was  no  longer  a  killer.  He  had 
definitely  turned  his  back  on  lawlessness  and  would 
henceforth  walk  with  the  law.  The  problem  of  what 
was  to  become  of  Go-Get-'Em  Jim  was  solved. 

As  to  the  problem  of  their  own  futures,  that  did 
Hot  disturb  these  happy  egoists  in  the  least.  Life 
beckoned  them  to  primrose  paths.  It  is  the  good 
fortune  of  lovers  that  their  vision  never  pierces  the 
shadows  in  which  lie  the  sorrows  of  the  years  and 
the  griefs  that  wear  them  gray. 


mro 


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stamped  below 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
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MAR  10  t944 


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